


Snowflower

by Trefoil_9



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - War, Angst, Angsty Teenager Spy Sans, Asexual Character, BAMF Grillby, Crying W. D. Gaster, Depression, Did you know that dead inside + rage makes for the perfect spy, Double Agent Grillbz, Double Agents, Emotional Manipulation, Except for when they're played straight, Gen, Grillby's Backstory, Grillbz is Dead Inside(tm), Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mind Games, Papyrus Knows More Than He Lets On, Papyrus is a lookout and he's dang good at it, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Quietly, SCANDALOUS SOCK MENTION, Sans Needs A Hug, Sarcasm, Scientist W. D. Gaster, Sexual Slavery, Skelebro Parental Substitute Grillby, Slavery, Some Humor, Sort Of, Surprisingly less awful than it sounds (or is it?), The War of Humans and Monsters basically replaces WWII in this AU, Traitor Gaster (?), Trope Aversion, Trope Subversion, W. D. Gaster is not related to Skelebros, War Era, Zersetzung, alternate universe fantasy nazis in a country similar to Norway, castration reference, no actual smut, oh there's a tag for that, pun not intended, sarcasm as coping mechanism, spy AU, surprisingly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trefoil_9/pseuds/Trefoil_9
Summary: The War is almost over and Agent Weiss, whose true name is Grillbz, wants a final chance to screw over the humans, so he volunteers for a mission no one else will touch: to infiltrate human intelligence as a Companion and spy on Dr. Gaster, a monster who defected to the humans.





	1. Brother

It wasn’t often that Monster Intelligence in Doma called a meeting for all available agents. Something important must had come up, and there was an air of tension, but also camaraderie. Many of the monsters present knew each other, or, more amusingly, had passed each other in the street without knowing each other. It was often better that they did not all know each other, but it was pleasant at times to forget this for an evening.

It was a small room packed with benches, facing the front, where the Director, a yellow lizard-monster who went by Miu, stood, shuffling her paws one over the other. Beside her was a tall, bright-eyed young skeleton in well-worn clothes; street lookout and newsboy Roland, whose real name was Papyrus. His skill in getting surly people to talk to him was nearly supernatural, and he also possessed the enviable skill of being able to mask a keen intellect with a naïve and dense front. Often the people he talked to walked away convinced that he had absorbed nothing of importance from the conversation when he had in fact picked up on everything they had said and deduced the rest. He was, as usual, at full energy, skipping back and forth from one foot to another. It seemed he had news.

The room was nearly full when there was a “brooooo!” from the doorway, and a much smaller skeleton in a hideous, rain-spattered hooded overcoat squeezed through, holding steaming coffee mug aloft. Papyrus went down on his knees and held out his arms.  
“BROTHER!”  
“Shout it louder bro, why don’t you tell everyone in the street too?”  
“I DON’T DO QUIET BROTHER, YOU KNOW THIS FULL WELL!” They hugged tightly. Sans’ partner, a similarly rain-drenched but less disheveled fire monster in a long raincoat, waved at Papyrus but did not interrupt their moment, instead heading to the back to claim a seat.  
“So you’re the one who started this powwow? What’s the meeting?”  
“MISSION! YOU’LL HAVE TO WAIT AND HEAR THE DETAILS WITH EVERYONE ELSE! AWAY WITH YOU!” Papyrus steered Sans towards the back with an affectionate shove and shot his partner a salute, which he returned with a half-smile.  
Grillbz lifted his coat, which he’d been using to reserve a seat for Sans, and laid it in his lap. Sans flung himself down on the bench next to him and swung his feet up onto the back of the bench in front of them. Catty, another street lookout, turned around to glare at him. Sans greeted her cheerfully and sipped his coffee.

The Director gave the room another nervous scan, poked her head outside to verify that the guards were standing where she’d asked them to, and cleared her throat. The quiet talking which had started died down.  
“H-hello. Good to see you all… well.”  
“Not currently being waterboarded in someone’s basement,” hissed Sans sideways to Grillbz, who lifted one corner of his mouth.  
“Lookout Roland—” Papyrus waved proudly. “—brought an interesting situation to my attention, ah… I’ll just review everything so you all understand what’s going on.”  
She gathered herself, clearing her throat. When she resumed speaking it was in a slightly louder, clearer voice; her speech-giving voice, utterly unlike the wavering tone she used in ordinary conversation.    
“When the humans took over St. Michaelston last year, most of the monsters got out in time and fell back to Doma. Dr. Gaster, one of our best scientists, was supposed to be with them, be he remained behind and defected to the humans. He’s still there.”  
“Everyone knows this,” muttered Sans. Grillbz shrugged. Evidently something had changed.  
“H-he’s been moved to another house in the old quarter and is, we think, kept under house arrest. It’s been impossible to get to him. No one is allowed to speak with him but his butler, and he rarely leaves; he’s closely watched when he does. The house is very secure.” She paused.  
“Dr. Gaster, before he defected, was working on very advanced research on the natures of SOULs. He thought perhaps there was a way to turn a human’s powerful soul against them, make it, uhh, overload itself, but I haven’t studied his theories much—anyway, h-he also did research on monster SOULs and knew more than anyone what their weaknesses were— _are_.  H-he also knew a bit about where the army was stationed, and though they moved as soon as they realized he’d defected, there would have been time for a human strike if he’d told them our position immediately, then. So it seems clear he didn’t, at least at first. The humans haven’t used his knowledge of SOULs against us, either. A-and we were expecting to see some of his weapons be used against us… he had several he was working on which were, ah, quite terrifying. I know for a fact that at least one of them could be used by humans, the rest could probably be altered to do so. None of them have appeared.”  
“Huh..” said Sans, tapping his fingers against the coffee mug. The bone made sharp sounds on the stoneware. Bratty gave him a disgusted look.  
“S-so, as far as we can tell, he hasn’t actually told them anything, or at least anything important. They appear to treat him as though he’s helping them, though, as I mentioned, he’s not allowed to leave much. So it’s imperative that we get someone close enough to him to watch and understand what’s going on. It’s possible, though extremely unlikely, that we misunderstood his intentions and he needs help. Or perhaps they know he’s holding something back and have been trying to wear him down. Perhaps he is in full cooperation with them, even, and they prefer to keep it classified for reasons of their own, or they just haven’t figured out how to implement magic-based technology yet. There’s no way to know what they’re up to, or what his mental state is.”  
She paused and adjusted her glasses, catching her breath.  
“Well that last part was new,” whispered Sans to Grillbz. “Never heard anyone try to defend the doc before.”  
The Director interlaced her scaly fingers and took a moment to breathe. Her official voice had slipped a little.  
“Raise your hands if you’ve heard of Snowflower.”  
Most of the hands went up.  
“R-right. It’s the human division devoted to finding trustworthy companions for high-ranking officials. U-uh, high-class prostitutes usually, but they’ve also recruited singers, students, military… anyone who seems likely, as long as they’re human. Only. They’ve started sweeping for monsters. Only on a very small scale, but Roland here noticed at once and dug up all the information he could.”  
“Dear God,” groaned Sans as Papyrus beamed. “I haven’t even given him the Talk yet.”  
“I did,” said Grillbz without turning his head. Sans’ head whipped around.  
“Excuse you, when?!”  
“Shh.”  
“Snowflower’s Consorts or Companions, as they call them, are personal servants, or more accurately slaves, to their masters until released by request of the master or death. It’s also possible for Snowflower to override and remove a Companion, though this almost never happens. Companions are, as the name may suggest, intended for personal company, but they’re also given basic training as bodyguards, entertainers and spies, reporting back to human intelligence on their surroundings. This last part is _technically_ a secret.” She paused to adjust her glasses. She’d recovered her voice.  
“Which brings us here. They’ve had a request for a monster companion, from an official who is a monster, in the old quarter. After fact-checking we’re certain that it’s Gaster. This is the first real chance we’ve had to get someone close to him. Anyone who volunteers would have to be accepted by Snowflower and go through several months of training with them, and if I’m right about Gaster, they may specifically be looking for a spy to earn his trust and learn what they could not. You’ll have to tread carefully. Those are the basics, and I’m asking for volunteers, or at least one. If you get in, you’ll be alone and without support. You’ll have to act on your own discretion. If Gaster is a friend, try to get him to safety. If he’s a risk, take him out.” She paused and took a deep breath.  
“Roland, did I miss anything?”  
“NO THAT WAS PERFECT! ANYWAY, WHAT THE DIRECTOR IS ASKING IS, WHO WANTS TO BE A SEX SLAVE DOUBLE AGENT? SHOW OF HANDS! YOU’LL GET FOOD!”  
“Girls?” grinned Sans, poking Catty with his foot. “Let’s see some spirit.”  
Catty half-turned, showed her teeth, and then ignored him.  
“Thank you, Roland, you may sit down now. And please do not volunteer.”  
Papyrus had a tendency to volunteer for everything, regardless of whether he was suited to the mission or not. IT’S A MATTER OF PRINCIPLES, he’d said once to Sans. Sans tried to explain to him that principles were nice but sticking with what you were good at was also important.  
“THANK YOU DIRECTOR WAIT NO, I DID FORGET SOMETHING! HE DIDN’T SPECIFY A GENDER PREFERENCE SO THIS IS OPEN TO THE GUYS TOO! ALTHOUGH, THEY’RE GENERALLY PICKING UP GIRLS, SO YOU’LL NEED TO TRY EXTRA HARD TO GET THEIR ATTENTION PROBABLY! BUT YES, THEY ARE ALSO TAKING GUYS!”  
Catty and Bratty, moving in sync, turned to look at Sans.  
“Boys?” purred Catty.  
“Show some spirit,” hissed Bratty. Sans raised his hands in surrender.  
“Yes, I forgot to mention that. Thank you, Roland.”  
Papyrus looked around for an empty seat, shrugged, and leapt across the room on the backs of benches, landing next to Sans with a thud. Nobody commented. There was, in fact, a rather stifling silence for several moments. Sans took another slurp of coffee. Then, Grillbz spoke up.  
“I volunteer.”  
Sans choked violently on his coffee, spat some over the back of the bench—“ _gross_!” hissed Catty, swatting at him—and dropped out of sight to his knees, still choking. Papyrus pounded him on the back. The Director blinked up at them.  
“Agent Weiss.”  
Grillbz stood at attention. Sans attempted to say something to him and went into another spasm of choking.  
“STRETCH YOUR ARMS UP! UP TO THE CEILING! IT HELPS!” Papyrus told him. Sans waved him away.  
“Are you sure?” asked the Director. Grillbz nodded.  
“Then, from now on, if any of the rest of you see Weiss, pretend you don’t recognize him,” she said, “Would anyone else like to volunteer?” There was dead silence, except for the sound of Sans struggling to breathe normally. “Then you’re our only shot at this. Give it your best.”  
“Thank you, Director.”  
Sans punched his ankle. He didn’t react.

It was still raining. Grillbz, or Weiss, was sitting on the edge of his bed, memorizing the contents of a sheet of paper laid across his knees, one hand limp on the coverlet and one fingering the corner of the paper. Sans, also known as Clicker, was pacing the room and shouting at him.  
“I don’t get you. There’s not enough danger for you here? Why’d you volunteer? You could have left it for anyone else. This is stupid, stupid. You knew about Audrey, right? Audrey’s the last one who tried to get through Snowflower, she _died_ there.”  
“I’m well aware.”  
“Alright, great, so what got into you?”  
“Someone needed to volunteer.”  
“Don’t go all Papyrus on me. This is stupid and reckless and—! What am I supposed to do, anyway? Do you care?”  
Grillbz looked up at him.  
“I’m not your father, Sans.”  
“ _I know that_. I’m allowed to care about you, right? I—OK, yeah, you know what? I was hoping, once this is all over, we could be like a family.”  
“Once this is over? What do you think is going to be left… Once this is over?”  
“Something. Hopefully, you and me and Papyrus, alive. Even if we lose.”  
“If.” He smiled gently. “We’ve already lost. The remainder is just damage control. And once this is over—once my king has no further use for my services—I’ll probably put a bullet in my head.”  
He methodically folded the paper and ate it. Sans’ eye sockets had gone dark.  
“Pehh. Tastes like glue.” Grillbz was a paper connoisseur, perhaps something to do with his being made of fire. Magic fire, it was true, but fire nonetheless. He always ate paper-wrapped candies with the papers still on, and had strong opinions on the palatability of different brands of writing-paper.    
“I’m going to tell the Director you’re unfit for this mission,” said Sans.  
“That’s not true and you know it, I’m the perfect fit for this mission. I have nothing to lose.”  
“You have Papyrus and me.”  
Grillbz looked at Sans, then offered his hand.  
“I wish you’d found someone else to hang your hopes on.”  
Sans walked past the hand and flung his arms around his neck.  
“Damn you, Weiss.”  
Grillbz folded him in his arms and rested his chin on his head with a faint sigh.  
“Kip.”  
“Kip? That’s your name now?”  
“Mh.”  
“It’s dumb.”  
“You said Weiss was a bad name.”  
“It is. All your names are dumb.”  
“You named yourself onomatopoetically.”  
“Yeah. Least I don’t sound like a fool.”  
“Are you certain?”  
“…Stay alive, OK? I won’t be able to help you.”  
Kip nodded.   
“Don’t let me catch you trying.”  

 

**A/N:**

**[Cover](https://trefoil-underscore.deviantart.com/art/Snowflower-Cover-705668037) **


	2. Grandfather

Several months later, the rain had turned to snow. It was the first heavy snowfall of the year, and it fell steadily, softly, covering the leafless shrubs standing mutely in the garden, piling atop the featureless brick walls, coating the drained fountain at the center.  
Most of this scene was lost in shadow from the window, which illuminated an arc of air and ground a few feet deep. Snowflakes whirled into brilliant being as they passed through the light, then vanished without a trace somewhere in the unseen garden.  
Dr. Gaster stood in front of the window, arms crossed, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirtsleeves. His right hand slowly kneaded the bone of his upper arm, stretching the fabric. Now and then there was a quiet pop of thread. If he had had fleshy knuckles they would have been white.  
Dierk came into the room softly and approached until he was close enough to touch him. Gaster did not turn, and Dierk saw his reflection across the black snow-blurred planes of glass. His eyes were unfocused.  
“Dr. Gaster?”  
He flinched.  
“Don’t do that!”  
“I’m sorry, I thought you had heard me. As a matter of fact, shouldn’t you be sleeping?”  
“Gynbdgsff. Hehh? Theoretically!” Gaster threw up his hands.  
“In any case, I have a question to ask you. Do you have a gender preference?”  
Dr. Gaster looked blankly at him.  
“For your Companion.”  
“Oh. Oh! Wait, they found someone?”  
“Possibly, that’s why I’m asking.”  
Dr. Gaster appeared to do some rapid mental calculations.  
“Male.”  
“I’ll pass it on.”  
Dr. Gaster nodded. Dierk retreated, and when he was gone Dr. Gaster turned and leaned into the widow, folding his arms and resting his forehead against the cold glass. With any luck it’d take another year.

Somewhere in the same city, snow pattered softly against the single-pane window of a small, bare room where Kip lay across a cot, dead to the world. One leg had dropped off the side of the bed and rested on the floor. He had apparently fallen asleep while undressing, and was still in his slacks, undershirt and suspenders. His mouth was half-open and his chest rose and fell lightly.  
A sound intruded into his consciousness. It was a sharper tapping, too distinct to be a part of the tinkly whoosh of soft snow. He half-opened his eyes and saw Sans pressed against the window, frantically tapping with his fingertips.  
In a moment Kip was up on his knees, fumbling with the catch and pushing the window up, and Sans tried to jam himself through shoulders first. He promptly got stuck. The window was too small for a normally-sized person of any non-gelatinous species to get through, but Sans was able to get half-through by backing out a bit and then wriggling through with his head and one arm first. Then he stopped, panting.  
“Help.”  
Kip worked a few fingers under his trapped armpit and pried him into the room. He fell onto Kip’s knees in a flurry of snow and half-frozen mud, scrambled upright and put his hands on his shoulders.  
“Ah jeez look at you, you’ve lost weight. And what happened to your face?!” He angry-whispered.  
Kip’s left cheek was scored with scratches and he had a black eye.  
“Someone attempted to stab me in the eye with a fork. It’s been an interesting few days,” he said in a low voice. They spoke with their heads close together. “What are you doing here?”  
“I’m your contact. I’ve been here for about a month, but this was the first time you were in a room with a window.”  
“I thought the Director was looking for someone else.”  
“You really think I’d stand for that? Nah, I’m coming with you as far as I can.”  
Kip smiled.  
“Thank you.”  
“Are you alright?”  
“As you see.”  
“No. I mean, are you alright?”  
“Haven’t changed since you last saw me. Wait, I’m wrong.”  
He twisted, pointing to the back of his neck, where the Republic seal was tattooed inside a circle with a distinctive, petal-like border. Sans looked at it with distaste.  
“Good job I guess. Have you been assigned?”  
“Why do you think I was stabbed in the face? They haven’t mentioned names, at least officially, but the young lady who stabbed me was another monster who had a knack for knowing things she shouldn’t. Nobody has said we’re competing, but it’s been understood.”  
“Huh. What’s going to happen to the rest of them?” Kip shrugged, then yawned. “It’s cold in here, why aren’t you using the blankets?”  
“I was too tired. And it was less cold before I opened the window.” Kip looked only partly awake.  
“Huh. OK, I won’t stay long, but promise me something?”  
“No.”  
Sans gripped the shoulders of Kip’s shirt, bringing their faces close together.  
“If he hurts you, I want you to kill him. For me.”  
“..You know I’m always open to murder suggestions.” Kip smiled sleepily, then draped his arms around Sans, pulling him close. “You be careful too. Don’t do anything reckless.”  
“I’ll be fine as long as I know you’re not being stupid. It almost killed me being here all this time knowing you were trapped in here and I couldn’t get you out. I didn’t even know what they were doing to you.”  
“Willingly trapped.” Sans didn’t answer, and Kip kissed him on the top of the head. “Admit it’s a great joke on the humans. You like pranks, right?”  
“Not when they can get you killed.”  
“Really. Well, now I know something new about you.”  
He wasn’t as warm as he usually was, Sans noticed; or maybe he was, but his heat didn’t radiate in the same way. Sans hoped it was just because he was half asleep.  
Kip chuckled.  
“Know what the hardest part of this was? Pretending I didn’t know anything while they taught me to fight. Sans, combat training is a joke. I’m much better prepared than they think I am.”  
“Well good, maybe you can snap some necks before this is over.”  
Kip made a pleased sound.  
“…I’m falling asleep. You should go.”  
“Yeah. OK, listen, I’ll be close by if you need me.”  
“Not too close.”  
“Eh don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover. I can be sneaky if I need to be.” He grinned, then looked up at the window. “Uh, think you can give me a push?”  
Grillbz got up and looked out the window, checking that there was nobody in the alley outside, then crammed Sans through. He heard him land with a faint crunch and scamper away. The snow kept falling. He shut and bolted the window and lay back down, this time remembering to pull the covers over himself.

Kip healed quickly, but it was nearly a week before anything else happened to him. He wasn’t let out of his room during this time. The anticipation was a new type of torture. He spent his time mentally reviewing what he knew about his mission and doing pushups and stretches in the space between his bed and the door. He was a little dismayed at how quickly he became fatigued. When he was too tired to do anything else he sat on his bed, calling up in his mind’s eye the photographs he’d left behind. Each photograph in turn was a window into a moment of the past. Piano music. A birthday cake. A rose-colored scarf. Sunlight.  
He was half-asleep when the door opened and one of the guards stepped in, carrying something dark draped over his arm. He laid it on the bed and Kip saw that it was a suit.  
“Put this on.”  
Ah good, something was happening. And considering that they were bothering to give him a change of clothes, he was probably right in his guess that he’d passed. They wouldn’t kill him in a suit.  
The guard didn’t offer to leave so he undressed and put on the new clothes in front of him, appreciating the feel of rich fabric in his hands. He remembered what a good suit was supposed to feel like. It included a vest and silk bowtie which he ran through his fingers before knotting.  
Of course the humans still had access to the best imports. Maybe not all of them, this was for the elites. It gave him a sly pride to benefit from his enemy’s largesse.  
The guard opened the door and held it for him, then set off down the hallway outside.  
“This way.”    
At the end of the hallway they turned to the side, through a locked door, and their surroundings were suddenly several orders of magnitude more comfortable. Kip’s feet sank soundlessly into a thick carpet. Somewhere he could hear a clock ticking. Another door opened, and this time the guard stood back. Kip walked through and was suddenly bathed in sunlight. This room had windows, two of them, facing the street. Flickers of life walked past outside. Kip focused instead on the man sitting in an armchair between the two windows.  
“Kip, is it?”  
“Yes sir.”  
“Sit down.”  
The human extended a pudgy hand towards the other chair, standing angled towards his with a tea table between them.  
Kip walked forward, sunlight sliding over his body. Sunlight. A glimpse of laughter on the face of a young woman passing just outside, arms around the shoulders of her two friends.  
Sunlight was what he had most missed living in Doma. The sky was always cloudy, and on rare days when the sun did come up it was blocked by the cliff walls. The farther down one went, the less were the chances of seeing the sun. The humans had claimed the old sun-drenched cities along the mountains’ crest and ridges and the gentle slopes by the sea, and if by nothing else the monsters were being dragged down by gravity. And in the past months he’d caught only glimpses of the sun. He hadn’t had time.  
He turned his back to the windows and sat down, sunlight spilling over his knees. He didn’t lean back into the chair but kept good posture, hands folded in his lap.  
The fat man reached across the table and poured coffee from a silver pot into a cup, which he handed to him with an affable “coffee?” Kip took it. It smelled real.  
“Let me see your face, son.”  
Kip objected strongly to that term, but tilted his head towards the man, who prodded gently at the faint discoloration remaining under his eye.  
“I’m sorry about your eye.”  
“It’s healing.”  
“That it is.”  
The man poked the side of his cheek, where he’d been scratched, and evidently satisfied with the stage of healing of the cuts, which were almost invisible, sat back in his chair with a sigh and sipped his own coffee. Kip mirrored the gesture. The coffee was not only real but excellent quality, smooth with an almost cinnamon-like taste. He closed his eyes for a moment, basking in it.  
“You know, Kip, you are the first monster Companion, but I think you may have started something. I don’t see why we couldn’t take on more like you.”  
Kip sipped his coffee and contemplated murder in the abstract. Not as something he’d do now, just as a pleasant idea. The human kept talking.  
“You look quite striking. And the skin! I’ve heard you have incorruptible skin?”  
“Yes sir.”  
One of the benefits of being made mostly of magic. As long as his soul was strong enough to repair the damage, he healed without a mark. It was coming in handy, since he’d been injured enough times that he probably wouldn’t have been accepted by Snowflower if the marks had been visible.  
“Are there many more like you?”  
“I’m… not sure, sir.”  
“Hmm.” He smiled, drained his cup and poured himself another one. “Cookie?”  
“…Thank you.”  
Grillbz slowly ate his cookie, waiting for the human to get around to whatever he was going to say. Surely he hadn’t just been called out for tea. Surely. Unless he were still on trial… nobody had told him he was finished.  
The human consumed another cookie and shifted his bulk to face towards Kip.  
“Well, son, I have news for you.”  
Kip looked over at him with polite curiousity.  
“You’ve been assigned.” He grinned, so Kip smiled back, questioningly. “Fellow called Dr. Gaster, up in the old town.”  
_YES YES YES_  
“Heard of him?”  
“I… think I might have heard his name before. I can’t remember.”  
_Fuck yes, it had worked, he’d done it!_  
“Well, he’s a monster like you, but he’s helping us now. Smart fellow. Scientist. I forget the rest. Oh, that’s it, he’s a skeleton. You don’t dislike skeletons, do you?”  
“Not at all.”  
“Well then, I think you’ll get on very well.”  
“I hope so,” said Kip, smiling. The human reached across the table and patted his arm, leaving several crumbs behind.  
“Now, don’t worry about seeing me, we’ll keep in touch.”  
“We will?”  
“Oh yes, I’ll check in every few weeks until you’re settled in, then every month. Kip, I think you’ll be crucial to helping Dr. Gaster get used to living in the Republic, he seems… unsure. Make sure you encourage him.” Kip nodded eagerly. “And tell me anything interesting that comes your way. I imagine they drilled that into you pretty thoroughly during classes, didn’t they.”  
In what hellish dimension did one refer to the months of training he’d gone through as classes?  
“They did, sir.”  
“Good, good. Well then, when we meet again we’ll exchange stories. Are you done with your coffee? I’ll see you off. Yes, you’re going now. How exciting! Oh, oh silly me, I never introduced myself did I? Call me Grandfather.”


	3. Master

Kip was in the back of a car, traversing a wide, still street with drifts of snow still lying in the gutters. No one was out except a single grey cat sitting very straight on the step of a house with its bushy tail tucked over its paws like a muff. It was so still he wondered briefly if it were stone.   
The houses themselves were large and well made. Many had gardens attached. He could see the spires of the cathedral nearby, and the shapes, dully orange in the winter sky, of the city’s center.   
He noticed the first human he’d seen on this street, a thin man in a grey suit who’d been standing under the portico of a house with high brick walls extending from its sides, enclosing a garden which, Kip guessed, circled its three sides. The man was now walking down to the street, and at the same time Kip realized that the car was slowing.   
For the first time Kip felt a prickle of excitement. Here he was.

He got out, pulling his bag after him. It had been handed to him as he was going out the door, and felt like it contained clothes. That was all he knew.   
“Kip,” said the human, and Kip saw that his narrow eyes were watery grey, the color of a sky with just so much cloud dissolved in it that it can’t be called clear. A shining color more luminous than dead snow. They were fixed on him unflinchingly.   
Kip nodded.   
“I’m Dierk. Dr. Gaster’s butler.”   
Was he indeed. He seemed more like a bouncer.   
“And where is Dr. Gaster?”   
“Working,” said Dierk with an audible sneer. Kip heard the car driving away. “He’d live in his study if I didn’t insist on regular mealtimes. I hope you’ll whip him into shape.”   
“…I’m a Companion, not a babysitter, but I’ll do what I can. That doesn’t sound healthy or enjoyable.”   
“Exactly.”   
Dierk preceded him up the steps and held the door. He did not offer to take Kip’s bag. Kip gave the door a once-over as he passed: solid, handsomely polished oak with brass fittings. It would take more than a few kicks to bring that door down. Something more like a grenade, or at least a hefty crowbar.   
The hallway he found himself in was lined with closed doors. The carpet was a dull rose color trellised with vines. Dierk shut the door behind him, and Kip turned and watched him lock it—on the inside—with a key from his vest pocket.   
Butler my ass, Kip thought; more like a jailer. And that was interesting. It would seem the Director’s information about Gaster was correct at least as far as the house went. But were they keeping him locked up because they didn’t trust him, or because he was a monster? (Or did the one involve the other?) He doubted, even if Gaster were behaving himself perfectly, that they would let him run around freely in a recently purged city.   
He wondered how Gaster felt about all this. Perhaps he was hopeful that it was only a temporary arrangement. Or perhaps… This was what he was here to discover.   
The house was very quiet. Dierk led him past a staircase and an open door through which Kip glimpsed a cacophony of potted plants and unlocked the door to a corner room on the left with three windows facing into the garden. The view looked like a mess of dead branches and half-melted slush at the moment, but Kip appreciated the light they gave.   
Otherwise there wasn’t much to remark. It was roomy enough, holding a bed with a wooden chest at its foot, the door of a closet and a small writing desk and chair between the two windows which shared a wall. There was an ornamental mirror on the wall this side of the bed. Kip walked in and set his bag down on the chest. Dierk followed him in and softly closed the door.   
“Take off your clothes.”   
Kip turned and stared at him.   
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I take orders from you?”   
“Listen. You report to Snowflower, they report to intelligence. Yes?”   
“…I believe so.”   
“I report directly to human intelligence, so I outrank you.”   
Oh! That was interesting. What was his game, then?   
“..How so?”   
Dierk sighed.   
“Did they give you a gun?”   
“..No.”   
“I thought not.” Dierk removed his coat, showing that he carried a pistol in a shoulder holster. It looked like an M1911, an American .45 caliber gun with excellent stopping power even against humans, who were in general much fleshier than monsters. It’d rip straight through a monster. Kip wondered where Dierk had gotten it. He was slightly jealous.  “Undress.”   
Kip stared Dierk directly in the eyes as he undressed slowly, laying his clothes across the bed. “Step forward,” said Dierk when he was done. He took two steps forward, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Sans had been right, he was thinner.   
Dierk circled him slowly, pausing behind him.   
“Huh. You did get a tattoo. I was wondering if that’d work on you.”   
Kip didn’t respond. Dierk returned to face him, scanned his face, and then removed his glasses.   
“Now that’s just sloppy. They could have at least waited for it to heal,” he said, leaning in to look at the fading traces of black eye. He waved the glasses. “You need these?”   
“Yes.”   
“Huh.” He put them back slightly crooked. “Get dressed, I’ll see if we can find the doctor.”   
Kip adjusted his glasses and began putting his clothes back on.   
He doubted Dierk had been looking for weapons, or he would have checked his bag—unless he knew Snowflower procedure well enough that he knew Kip had only gotten it just before leaving and trusted that he wouldn’t have had the chance to slip anything in during the ride over. Regardless of whether he had another reason (and he doubted that he did) it was pretty clear to him what Dierk’s intent was. Stress the point that Kip did, in fact, take orders from him.

Kip allowed himself to hate this man with a special hatred.

The study was upstairs, and the door was closed, Kip noticed, but not locked. Dierk knocked and then walked in without waiting for an answer.   
The room was filled to the brim with sunlight like water. Directly ahead of them were two large round-topped windows which opened into the garden, from which golden sunset light streamed, coating every surface in a warm glow. Between them and the windows stood an imposing dark wood desk covered with papers and assorted other detritus, the exposed wood gleaming brightly in the light.   
There was no one at the desk.   
There appeared to be no one in the room, until Kip looked into the one messy corner and realized that a skeleton was sitting crumpled up there like a wounded spider, his knees bent and head fallen on his chest. He appeared to be asleep. Papers and cigarette butts were scattered around him.   
Dierk sighed in disappointment. When this got no reaction, he cleared his throat, a little louder. Still no response.   
“Dr. Gaster.”   
The skeleton’s foot twitched.   
“Dr. Gaster!!”   
Suddenly the skeleton gave a mighty leap sideways, eyesockets wide. He floated for a moment at an oblique angle to the floor, then crashed and lay sprawled there, behind the desk.   
“Ow.” Said Dr. Gaster.   
Dierk paused for a moment and appeared to stifle a threatening attack of laughter.   
“Are you alright?”   
“Fiiiine.”   
“Your Companion is here.”   
“Whose whats where?”   
“Your Companion. Yours.”   
“Oh.” Kip thought he heard this exclamation followed by a quiet ‘fuck.’   
Dr. Gaster scrambled up and looked at him, or rather towards him: he’d gone wall-eyed. He blinked a few times and his eyelights straightened out.   
“His name is Kip,” said Dierk, and retreated, closing the door behind him.   
Dr. Gaster looked after him as if surprised to see him go, then at Kip, then at the door again. Something akin to panic appeared to strike him. He opened his mouth and then shut it.   
“..ahm.”   
“…”   
“…”   
With a sudden movement he vaulted across the desk and landed cross-legged on the outer edge, facing Kip, then extracted a cigarette holder and lighter from the clutter on the desk and withdrew a cigarette with his long fingers. He was wearing only a dark dress shirt and slacks; the shirt collar was open and he was barefoot.   
“Do you smoke?” he asked, and Kip’s attention was draw magnetically to his mouth. Ooh. Sharp teeth.   
“Sometimes.”   
Dr. Gaster offered him the holder, and Kip shook his head. Dr. Gaster snapped the holder shut and lit his cigarette, focusing on it, rather than Kip, with a lingering intensity. When he’d taken several puffs he looked up at Kip through the smoke, appearing to consider. He pressed his hands together in front of his chin, the cigarette still burning between his fingers.   
“So, here’s the thing. I didn’t ask for a Companion. I asked for a cat.”   
“….” Kip nodded slowly.   
Dr. Gaster puffed on the cigarette a few more times, staring at Kip, then lowered it.   
“Nothing against you personally, by the way, you’re gorgeous.”   
“Thank you, sir.”   
Dr. Gaster’s brow ridges raised, then he cough-chuckled tonelessly.   
“Don’t do that.”   
“Sir?”   
“ _That_. Nobody calls me sir. Just call me Gaster.”   
“Yes s—Gaster.”   
Kip intentionally almost slipped up, for the sake of the act, and was pleased to see Gaster’s eye twitch slightly. He didn’t appear to find it funny.   
“…Right. So.” Gaster returned his attention to the cigarette for an unreasonable space of time, and slowly his eyelights drifted apart until he was wall-eyed again. It was disconcerting to watch. Suddenly he snapped out of it and focused his eyes on Kip.   
“I’m….Busy.” He said in a tone that begged Kip not to question it.   
“Should I leave?”   
“Yeah. Uh. See you later, I guess?”   
Kip visibly stopped himself from saying ‘yes sir,’ bowed, and left the room. He surreptitiously glanced over his shoulder as he was closing the door behind him and saw Gaster still on the desk with his head clenched in his hands, muttering to himself.

Well that was interesting. It could have been worse.

What he was most curious about were Gaster’s hands. They had holes smashed through the centers. This didn’t seem to bother him, but must have been painful. And Kip was sure his dossier hadn’t mentioned any hand injuries. The facial scars he’d expected; they were Gaster’s prime identifying characteristic: one on his left cheekbone from a childhood accident, the more dramatic fissure running from the top of his skull to his right eyesocket from an experiment gone horribly wrong. The initial blast hadn’t been what caused the damage—Gaster wasn’t _that_ bad of a scientist, he knew to stand well back from unstable experiments. He’d had a beam fall on him while trying to round up panicking interns.   
But Kip hadn’t heard anything about his hands, and such serious damage would have been mentioned if the monsters had known about it. So it was recent. He wondered what had caused it.   
He couldn’t ask until Gaster had at least gotten used to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: walleyed apparently isn’t the 100% accurate term for derp-eye? I thought it was and it seems like it is in some cases but also no? Linguistics confusing. Like I was pretty sure wall-eyed was the opposite of cross-eyed and Urban Dictionary agrees with me but nothing else does and that’s… concerning.   
> The 100% accurate term is apparently EXOTROPIC STRABISMUS. Thanks Wikipedia.. that's... not a thing we can use in a story.


	4. Doll

The door to Kip’s room stood half open, and inside he could see Dierk unpacking the contents of his bag for him. Ah, so he did do things other than slink around acting like a superior pisshead.

Kip had no particular desire to share a room with the man when not necessary so he walked quietly past and tried a few of the closed doors. The ones near the front of the house were locked. Again, interesting. He doubted that Gaster had the keys, or else why would they be locked? It seemed unreasonable to lock doors in a house unless one of the occupants was supposed to be kept out. Dierk seemed the type to go wherever the hell he wanted and Kip doubted that his own arrival, from an organization so firmly on the side of the Republic, would have changed the dynamics of the house, so that left only Gaster.   
It occurred to Kip that he’d seen several windows in the front of the house. Perhaps that was why those rooms in particular were locked.

He went to the back of the house and out into the garden, which, as he’d suspected, encircled the house on three sides, and looked at the garden wall. There were no openings or imperfections in the smooth brick. No vines climbed it and no trees stood close to it. That was it, then. This house was a prison, albeit a pleasant one. Again, Kip wondered what Gaster thought of the arrangement. Perhaps he considered it a lesser evil.

The garden was eerily beautiful with a dead, snow-coated beauty. He walked as far as the fountain and leaned his foot against the rim, looking down into the smooth skin of snow covering the bottom.

He wondered whose house this had been before the War, if they were humans who had offended the Republic, or monsters. It felt strangely desolate with only him, Gaster and the guard (he’d decided that that was what Dierk was).

He went back upstairs and tried the door closest to the front of the house on the right. It opened, revealing another bedroom. Ah. This would be Gaster’s. After a moment of hesitation he slipped in, shutting the door behind him, and looked around. It was only slightly larger than his. Larger bed, slightly better furniture, no tacky mirror. An extra door. He opened it and found a bathroom with a fan window facing over the street, thick stained glass, not easy to break.   
Kip looked at the bathtub with amusement. He always forgot that other monsters had to bathe, and didn’t have self-cleansing magic. At least they never smelled quite as bad as unwashed humans.

He gave the rooms a brief look-through. No personal items that he could find except a pocketwatch on the bedside table, which had stopped ticking. Nothing interesting. He returned to the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind him, and moved to the room opposite. Locked. Probably another window which faced the street. So was the next. Maybe it opened into the room beside it, or just wasn’t needed. Back to the room between Gaster’s bedroom and the study. This door was unlocked, and opened onto a family sitting room. The light, fading now, slanted over a piano, a couch and armchairs and two walls of bookshelves. Kip smiled, walked to the piano and touched the keys softly in a few chords. It wasn’t perfectly tuned, but it was playable. He frowned, replaying the higher chord, then tested a few keys. The hammers were striking but had a muted sound, like something was lying on the strings. He pushed the top up and peered into the interior. A small bundle lay across the strings. He gazed at it for a few moments and then closed the lid.

Kip returned to his room, which had been vacated by Dierk. Kip wondered where he’d gone to. Perhaps one of the locked rooms.   
He estimated that over half of the house was sealed off, mostly because of windows facing the road, which it would presumably be easy to escape from. A few other rooms were locked as well. He hadn’t been able to locate the kitchen, for example. Because of the knives?   
He leisurely explored the room by his own light as the last traces of sunlight faded from the walls. Comfortable, if rather bare. A few changes of clothes, mostly identical, had appeared in the closet and clean underwear in a drawer. The bedsheets were clean, as was the space under the bed and the other furniture, which contained nothing, not even a smudge of dust. Kip was surprised the object in the piano upstairs had been missed. He wondered what he should do with it. He couldn’t play the piano very well if he left it there.

Kip pulled the desk chair out and sat in it looking towards the window on the adjacent wall, which faced into the center of the garden. The fading light softened the place, making it look less a garden of frozen thorns and more a fairy’s winter palace. Kip was ambivalent. So much as it was a view of any sort, he appreciated it. Claustrophobia had begun to set in in the days before he was released, and it was good to admire an open space, whatever that space might be. Kip wondered if either of his housemates appreciated the view.

Dierk appeared, poking his head around the door which Kip had left half-open.   
“Dinner is ready, but he’s sulking.”   
“Gaster?”   
“Yes. Says he’s going to bed and you should eat without him.”   
Kip raised his eyebrows.   
“Mh.”   
“What did you do?”   
“Very little. He evicted me from the room almost at once.”   
“That’s just like him.”   
“Is he shy?”   
“I don’t pretend to understand his motives. You’re not going to turn down my cooking, are you? I bought meat.”   
“Certainly not.” Kip rose and followed him into the hallway. “You do the cooking?”   
“I do most everything around here.”   
“Then you’re kept busy.”   
“I don’t get bored.”   
Locked in a house with no company but Dierk. No wonder Gaster was a little frazzled. That would make Kip’s task easier. Even if Gaster had responded with paranoia—slightly deranged people could be manipulated well if one used care.   
They entered the room he had glanced into on his way into the house, a sunroom filled with potted plants. The sky outside was deep blue streaked with pink. The glass panels and the leaves of half-visible plants gleamed darkly in lamplight.    
Kip questioned the decision to eat dinners here, but maybe the dining room was inaccessible for some reason. And the table in the sunroom was just the right size for two people. Or for one person.   
“Are you sure he doesn’t want to eat?”    
Asked Kip, sitting down and glancing under a pot lid. Ooh. Stewed beef. He questioned Gaster’s decisions.   
“I’ll try him again,” said Dierk, disappearing. Kip took stock of the table, two place settings and some cooked carrots, rice, and the somewhat paltry amount of stewed beef—not that he was about to complain. It was still human food, and therefore inferior, but it was at least good human food and he was hungry.   
Dierk reappeared.   
“He’s pretending to be asleep.”   
“Perhaps he’s actually asleep.”   
“Maybe. I’m expecting him to show up in about twenty minutes.”   
“Should I wait?”   
“No, it’ll get cold.”

Kip forced himself to eat slowly, fully chewing each bite and finally, when he’d consumed slightly more than a half portion of the food, collecting the juices from his plate with his spoon. Gaster still hadn’t appeared. He waited a few more minutes, considering, then loaded the rest of the food onto Gaster’s empty plate and wrapped his silverware in the napkin. Dierk watched with a wry expression.   
“Think he’ll let me in?” asked Kip, smiling. Dierk shrugged.   
“You may have better luck than me.”   
“Mh. If not I’ll just leave it by the door. It would be a shame for him to miss this.”

Gaster didn’t respond to a knock on his door. Kip resorted to calling softly.   
“Dr. Gaster? I have your dinner.—I’ll just leave it out here, in case you get up.”   
Or decide to open the door.   
He didn’t think it was locked, which was also interesting. _Could_ Gaster lock his own door if he wanted to? In any case, Kip wasn’t going to barge in.   
He walked away rather more loudly than necessary, went into the sitting room and took the small object out of the piano to examine it. It was a doll, and it fit in the palm of his hand, long ears drooping back between his fingers. It looked a bit like a cross between a rabbit and a fox, a rich ochre color with a pointed nose and long, drooping, pointed ears that came to its waist. It was wearing a blue matching coat and skirt such as a pampered child might wear.   
Again he wondered if the last people to live here had been monsters. It looked like a monster doll, but children often failed to differentiate. Maybe that was why it had been hidden…  
Kip wondered where they had gone.   
He lay the doll on the piano bench next to him and started to play.


	5. The View

He played for half an hour. When he went into the hallway, Gaster’s door, which had been ajar, slammed itself shut. The plate and napkin had disappeared.

Back in his room, he took the doll out of his pocket and prodded it curiously with his fingers. There was nothing special about it, just a doll, the fabric a bit worn from being rubbed. Kip ran a thumb over the seam joining the lighter fabric around the eye with the darker red of the body. Then placed it in one of his desk drawers and closed it softly.

He found a set of striped pajamas in the second drawer he checked.

Kip was a light sleeper. It’s safe to say nothing more happened that night.

He woke at dawn, rolled onto the floor and did fifty pushups. He still felt a little rough afterward, he noted with slight irritation; he needed to get back into form. It probably wouldn’t take long now that he was getting rest and.. decent food.   
Since Gaster seemed casual about dressing Kip didn’t bother with his coat.

He sat watching the snow light up outside his window until Dierk knocked on the door. He got up and opened it.   
“Oh, you are up. Breakfast is ready, and I’ve just called Dr. Gaster for the first time.”   
“…?”   
“It usually takes about four before he comes down.”   
“Mh.”   
“Breakfast is in the sunroom if you’d like to get started.”

Kip sat down at the table, but did not get started on the fresh rolls, jam, and oranges, electing to wait for his errant scientist. He guessed Gaster wouldn’t try to avoid two meals in a row. He sniffed the contents of the coffeepot while he waited. It smelled like mostly chicory, but a good bracing aroma of real coffee was discernable. Any coffee was a luxury. Additionally, the smell of chicory was the sweet scent of continued warfare: the humans hadn’t quite won the War. Not yet. He drank in the smell, watching the white steam twist in the golden air.

The sunroom looked much better in the daytime. The bracing morning light reflected from the melting snow outside filled the room with white-yellow light and blazed through the half-transparent leaves of the greenery, which he could now see included several potted palms. They threw long rays of green-tinged shadow across the table and the clouds of coffee-scented steam. Kip moved one hand against the sunlight and watching it flicker along his wrist.

He sat with his back to the glass. After all, he was part of the view.

Dierk left for his third Gaster call and returned alone. Not quite ten minutes later Kip’s patience was rewarded with a scuffle and a sudden appearance of skeleton in the doorway. Dr. Gaster was wearing a tie today. He was still barefoot.   
He stood for a moment in the doorway, regarding two opposite ends of the room with his wall-eyed stare, then, recovering himself with a brief glance at Kip, marched to the table and slumped into his chair. At least, that was his obvious intention. He landed on the edge and slipped onto the floor instead, banging his chin on the table and audibly clashing his teeth together on the way down. Kip half-stood.   
“Ah—”   
“Fine! I’m fiiiiine.”   
Gaster sounded embarrassed enough that Kip decided it’d be better to pretend nothing had happened. He sat back down. After a few moments Gaster scrambled up into his chair and sat there stiffly, surveying the two ends of the table. Kip poured him, and then himself, cups of coffee and took a roll.   
Gaster slowly squeezed his pupils together and focused them on the cup of coffee. Slowly lifted it with both hands and took a sip. Kip focused on his roll, dribbling jam onto the edge.   
He spared a cold look for Dierk, smirking unrepentantly behind Gaster, and briefly entertained the happy fantasy that Dierk was indeed a butler and could be fired for his attitude.   
Kip took his first bite of bread and munched happily. Gaster still hadn’t made eye contact but he seemed to have relaxed a little. He had his hands spread over the lid of the coffeepot.   
“…warming your hands?”   
Gaster self-consciously flexed his fingers.   
“They get a bit stiff.”   
“…”   
Kip pushed his plate to the side and stretched out his hand, palm up. Gaster looked curiously at it, then at him.   
“I promise I’m better than a coffeepot,” said Kip, smiling. Gaster stared at him a moment longer, then, slowly, placed one hand in Kip’s. Kip covered it with his other hand and closed his eyes, focusing his magic. Intense warmth radiated from his hands. Opening his eyes, he saw that Gaster looked impressed. Kip felt of his hand: the tips of his fingers were a bit cool, but the two middle fingers, above the holes, were cold as ice. That made sense. Skeletons were odd creatures, but they had some sort of magic flow through their bodies nonetheless, disruption of which caused problems. Kip was only surprised that he’d retained use of those fingers.   
He began massaging warmth through the hand, working up slowly from the wrist, gently flexing and rubbing the bones. When he’d reached the fingers a sudden movement from Gaster caught his attention. Gaster had moved his other hand to his mouth, and Kip thought he was blinking back tears. Seeing Kip look at him he ducked his forehead into his hand.   
“Are you alright?” said Kip. He didn’t answer. “Am I hurting you?”   
“No! I. I’m sorry… No one has… ever done something like this for me.”   
Kip smiled and returned his attention to the cold fingers.  
“Didn’t you have a mother?”   
“Nn..not really.”   
Kip looked at him. He was looking at the table.   
“Mh.” He kissed Gaster’s knuckles and continued rubbing. Gaster glanced up at him, then back at the table.   
Gaster’s other hand wasn’t quite as chilled, perhaps he’d slept with the first one outside the blankets. When both hands seemed satisfactorily warmed up Kip let him go and returned his attention to the breakfast. Gaster folded his slightly trembling hands in front of him and stared obliquely past them at an angle that appeared to avoid the table and Kip entirely, instead focusing on the two outermost corners of the room.   
Kip finished his roll and his first cup of coffee and took another of each. Gaster appeared to return to reality with a protracted blink and finished his cooling coffee in a large gulp, then sat watching Kip eat.   
“Didn’t they feed you at… wherever you were before this?” he said, finishing lamely.   
“They did. It just wasn’t this good.”   
“Huh.” Gaster reached for the coffeepot but stopped with his hand in the air, evidently distracted by something about Kip’s face. He leaned forward with one elbow on the table, glancing back and forth between one of Kip’s eyes and the other. Kip wondered if he were nearsighted as well as intermittently wall-eyed, and too proud or self-conscious to wear glasses. Gaster leaned back.   
“What happened to your…?” he brushed the cracked portion of his cheekbone, staring at the corresponding area on Kip’s face.   
“It was an accident,” said Kip, inhaling another roll and trying to unobtrusively count how many more were left in the basket. Gaster tossed one onto his plate.   
“Huh. Sorry about that.”   
Kip nodded.   
“It’s healing.”   
Gaster silently poured himself another cup of coffee and sipped it slowly. Kip finished his third roll and frowned at Gaster’s immaculate plate.   
“Why aren’t you eating?”   
“Uh? I dunno. I don’t eat much for breakfast.” Kip nudged an orange toward him, head slightly tilted. “Nah.”   
“I’ll peel it for you.”   
“N.. no, you don’t.. f. Fine.” Gaster took an orange and began peeling it, fingers working swiftly. Kip watched in interest. His hard, pointed fingertips worked like little knives.   
Kip took an orange for himself and slowly peeled it in a spiral, warming the rind just enough to give off a an orangey smell, which vaguely reminded him of bonfires and hot chocolate and Christmas trees. He let the evocations swirl just beneath conscious thought, not forming into concrete memories.   
They finished their oranges in silence, and then Gaster silently dumped the last two rolls onto Kip’s plate. Kip glared at him.   
“What? I’m not hungry.”   
“At least eat one?”   
“I told you, I don’t like breakfast.”   
Kip placed one of the rolls on his plate anyway before beginning on the other. Gaster watched him eat, silently. When Kip looked back at him he quickly averted his eyes, sometimes in opposite directions. Kip was about to resort to banalities on the weather when he suddenly made eye contact and opened his mouth.   
“…..I.”   
“…?”   
Kip waited. Gaster’s face had gone blank.   
“I have to the science.”   
“…”   
Kip kept his face blank and sagely nodded.   
Gaster blinked once, stood up from his chair and practically sprinted out of the room. They heard his steps pounding up the stairs.

Kip wandered into the sitting room and installed himself in the comfiest armchair.

He was reserving his opinions on Gaster, but he frankly disliked Dierk. He hoped he’d have an excuse to shoot the man before this stint was over.

He wondered where Sans was, and whether he’d gotten any breakfast. Probably not… He brushed the thought away. Sans wasn’t his concern now.

He fell into a light doze sometime before lunch, which was mostly silent. Gaster’s tie had disappeared and he seemed calmer, but still silent, and conversation was Kip’s weak point.   
“Mm… back to work I guess,” said Gaster, staring at the cuff of Kip’s sleeve. Kip nodded.   
“See you at dinner?”   
“….Ye..es.”   
Gaster fled in a marginally more dignified manner than at breakfast.   
Kip considered another nap, and that the next few days might not be terribly exciting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Random extraneous headcanon that five of those minutes of Gaster not showing up were caused by him actually wondering what he should wear for the first time in a year. Usually he just throws on whatever’s dark-colored and clean, shoes and other trimmings optional. So when this unusual thought—‘what should I wear?’—strikes him, his brain completely short-circuits, and he just stands in front of his closet with his hands in the air for five minutes, internally screaming. ??? what are clothes??? I don’t, ,?? How?? How do I wear clothes?? ? ????


	6. Warming

Two days had passed, and Gaster seemed to be comfortable with his Companion being in the same room as him for mealtimes. Kip counted this as a small but important victory.

They’d had a few stilted conversations. Gaster didn’t want to talk about himself, his work in generic terms, the house, or the garden, and he didn’t offer any other topics. Kip managed to ascertain, with some polite prodding, that he liked the ‘spiky plants’ in the sunroom, and that he liked plants in general, but knew nothing about them, and so that topic also stalled.

He’d also started wearing shoes.

The main problem was that he barely left his study, and when he did leave he seemed mentally drained to the point of collapse.

That left only nighttime for Kip to explore said study.

He was counting on being able to manipulate Gaster, but even if that worked as well as could reasonably be expected it would take time, and there was nothing like getting information directly from the source. He didn’t expect to be able to understand all of his notes, but he’d done some studying and thought he could get the gist of what he was up to in there—or, at least, what he was writing down.   
 The problem was that it would be dark, and Kip was a walking light source. He didn’t know where Dierk slept (if he kept normal sleep patterns at all) or whether Gaster was a light sleeper, either.   
This was, however, the most obvious step to take and he planned for it accordingly, waking up every half-hour during the night and listening for sounds of movement, of which there were none, at least none that he could detect.   
On his fifth night in the house he decided to risk it. He timed himself to wake at three and lay listening for movement for half an hour, then started up, walking slowly, releasing as little light as physically possible. He could control the behavior of his flames, but only up to a point: if he focused hard, he could dull to a phantomlike ruby red. He took a minute to open the door and reach the foot of the stairs, avoiding the boards that squeaked under the carpet. He took another minute to soundlessly reach the middle of the stairs, from which he could see the study door. All at once something pinged at his consciousness; something had changed or moved in his peripheral vision. It took him a moment to realize what it was. The light had shifted—but he hadn’t changed, he saw with a paranoid glance down at his hand.   
His eye caught a crack of dull bloodred light leaking out from under Gaster’s door. He dropped to the stairs and crouched there, pressing himself into the carpet.   
The light glowed faintly for a moment, then faded out without a sound.   
Kip stayed down, eyes on the door, heart pounding, trying to guess what sort of magic that was. Most monster magic was white, so Gaster was probably practicing a special attack of some sort. Unsurprising. Surely he realized how precarious his own position was.   
When, after a few minutes, there was no sound of movement, Kip slowly stood and walked soundlessly to the study door. Opened it slowly, not straining the hinges enough to elicit an audible creak. Slipped inside and shut it behind him, then stuffed his shirt under the door and with a feeling of relief let his light output increase by a few degrees.   
The place was a mess, but he had an unpleasant feeling that Gaster would notice immediately if he so much as shifted the position of a cigarette butt. Probably not, but he wasn’t going to risk it, for his own peace of mind if for nothing else.   
He started by acquainting himself with the layout of the room as he hadn’t been able to do before. Desk in the center, flanked by a few objects that had tumbled off the top. The mess of papers it bore looked precarious, he’d have to be careful not to knock anything over. A small stained-glass lamp stood proudly above the rest of the clutter. There were the two windows, and a cluster of papers and other detritus around the corner farthest from the door, where Gaster had been sleeping that first day. The only other object in the room was a deep filing cabinet in the corner near the door. He looked inside. The bottom drawer held only a few empty folders, the top contained blueprints for the working parts of the CORE.   
The bottom drawer looked large enough to fit in if he curled up. That might possibly be useful.

He examined the papers on the desk in his own light, without touching them. He started with the only one which had been typed out. It was headed as a proposal to the human research department. He skimmed the introduction—Gaster could, apparently, be not only coherent but very professional if he wanted; unless Dierk were a secretary along with his myriad other tasks.   
Gaster’s style was terse.

_As explained in my previous submissions, G-S-949 could be weaponized through chemical development, but according to my current knowledge actual use of it on a large scale would be unreasonable in terms of both cost and effectiveness. As mentioned, G-S-949 was used in tests to research the nature of the SOUL, and was tested extensively for safety before use. Much of its usefulness in research is because it would take an extremely massive overdose to overcome the natural instincts of the body and force the SOUL to remain outside the body until death._

_Another problem concerns the wide-ranging effects of G-S-949. Its effects are the same on both monsters and humans. As an alternative, I suggest researching chemical weapons which disrupt a monster’s life-magic instead, which could be much safer for any nearby humans and much more effective as weapons in general._

_I have many ideas on this subject but they are not the sort that can be easily explained. I expect most of them to come to nothing, but I can’t know without conducting some tests, preferably in person, which brings us back to the subject of the lab. I realize I do not know much about the state of the city at present, but I hope it will be safe enough to allow me to travel soon. There is very little I can do for you from an empty study._

…Huh.

Ignoring the most obvious and unpleasant implications for the moment, Kip wondered just how much of this letter was intended as a not-so-subtle plea to let Gaster back into his lab, or any lab, or somewhere other than a securely locked house.

Back to a basic level: he was suggesting monster-targeted chemical weapons. _Lovely_.

G-S-949 wasn’t a name Kip recognized, but he knew Gaster had extensively researched SOULs, so it made sense. He guessed it was a substance which could force the SOUL to briefly manifest outside the body, where it could be studied. It made sense that this could be done without harm to the subject, there were documented cases of both monsters’ and humans’ SOULs briefly manifesting in moments of intense emotion, and some monsters could externally manifest their souls at will. Like skeletons. It was part of skeleton reproduction, which made sense considering that they had no flesh-based organs. Kip wondered if it was this quirk about his own species that had first suggested the idea to Gaster of studying souls outside the body.

He scanned the notes on the table. Most of them looked like fragmented references to chemistry. He couldn’t make any more sense of them.

He started toward the corner where Gaster sat on the floor, which was ringed with papers and cigarette ashes. It would be a challenge to navigate that without displacing anything.

His attention was drawn aside by a plinking sound from the window, as if someone had bounced a small object off it.   
A small form sat on top of the garden wall, waving.   
Sans.   
Kip sharply motioned him down and he saluted and dropped out of sight. Kip remained where he was, staring at the empty wall, for a few moments.   
So he was in position and could climb the wall if he needed to. Good to know, he supposed, but showing up like that was _stupid_. Why couldn’t he leave Kip alone?   
For a guy who kept harping about how ‘dangerous’ the mission was, he was pretty deeply involved in it.   
Kip hoped he would keep out of trouble.   
He shook himself and returned his attention to the notes on the floor. He didn’t need to worry about Sans on top of everything else.

He picked his way through the obstacle course of cigarette butts and papers to the corner and crouched, scanning the papers on the floor. Several were written notes, the rest he decided were mechanical. What struck him at first was the amount of crossing-out on these pages. Thick lines of almost solid ink scrawled out blocks of information. The crossing-out he’d seen in the other notes had been haphazard and brief, usually just a few squiggles over a letter or word, more rarely a whole section, that had been written wrong. This was much more methodical.   
His attention was attracted to a page of notes on the top of the mess, which looked like they had been worked on recently. The entire bottom half of the page was a mess of ink, scribbled haphazardly—he thought he might be able to read through it. He lifted it, carefully noting exactly where it had lain, and pressed it against his stomach, arching over to read it upside-down. His light spilled through the paper, illuminating the dark lines of ink. The first crossed-out sentence was almost obliterated, so he focused first on the lower section. The words were written haphazardly, scrawling slantwise across the paper.

_Please shut it down  
shut it down shut it down shut _

It trailed off into illegible scrawling. He returned to the section just above it and tried to read through the heavier lines of ink.

 _F_ [org?] _ive for… tell…before, the_ [na?] _ture of the machine i_ [s?]….

His attention snapped away from the notes, attracted by the quiet sound of a door closing.

He pressed the paper back into its place, sprang around the desk, snagged his shirt from in front of the door as he was passing, curled himself into the filing cabinet and slid the drawer closed, dimmed to a low red. The only sound was his own heartbeat.   
He probably wouldn’t come in there, but he’d better stay out of sight just in case.   
The study door opened. No, _of course_ Gaster would come to lurk in his study in the middle of the night. After all, he didn’t spend nearly enough time in there during the day. Kip pressed himself into the back of the drawer, away from the crack. If Gaster looked directly at it in the dark room he’d see a dim reddish glow coloring that crack.   
He covered his face and hands with a flap of his shirt and waited, listening. He was confident that he hadn’t moved anything, at least.   
He couldn’t hear Gaster walking. He was light, and his steps made little to no sound. Another clue that this was in fact Gaster and not Dierk, but he’d been certain that the door he’d heard closing was Gaster’s door. Kip heard some shuffling from what he thought was the direction of the desk, and then, a few minutes later, the quiet flick of a lighter. Perhaps a few minutes passed, then with a snap, he heard the desk lamp turn on and the crack of the door turned pale gold.   
Good, Gaster was less likely to notice Kip’s own light now. But he hoped he didn’t plan on staying in the study all night. Kip would have a difficult time explaining himself in the morning. And his neck was already cramping.   
He still didn’t smell cigarette smoke, and wondered what Gaster had been doing with the lighter.  
He thought Gaster was pacing back and forth, but it was hard to tell with his light footsteps. Kip was straining to hear, with the idea that he was somewhere on the other side of the room, when there was a gentle thump. He was leaning against the filing cabinet.   
Kip thought with amusement that this was the first time Gaster had approached him.   
There was a sharp sound of bones against metal: Gaster was tapping his fingers against the cabinet. Abruptly he stopped and moved away. A moment later Kip heard the door open and close.   
He’d left the lamp on.   
Kip waited.   
Perhaps ten minutes later the door opened again and Gaster came back in, muttering to himself, shut the lamp off with what sounded like an unnecessarily brisk jerk, and left again.   
Kip stayed where he was for half an hour, then slid the drawer open and tumbled stiffly out.

He glanced around the room, buttoning his shirt. A few papers had been shifted inconsequentially on the desk. The one page he’d been looking at just before the interruption had been.. moved? He didn’t see it anywhere. He thought one, maybe two of the other notes from Gaster’s corner had disappeared along with it, too. And the ashtray was suspiciously full.   
He hadn’t looked closely at it when he came in, but he was reasonably certain it had been mostly empty, and now it was heaped with fresh ash which appeared to have been tamped down as if to make it less obvious. Kip knelt to look at it. Paper ash, he thought.   
Interesting.

Nothing went wrong on the trip back down to his room. He returned to his bed and was asleep within minutes.

He felt a bit sleep-deprived in the morning, but Gaster looked it. He stumbled down only after he’d been called four times, the membrane around his eyesockets bleared and dark.   
“Didn’t sleep well?” asked Kip. Gaster groaned in response. Kip reached across the table for his hand. Warming Gaster’s hands had become a daily ritual. “Maybe you should take a nap later.” Gaster made a growling noise and poured himself some coffee with his free hand.   
Kip finished with the first hand and reached for the other. Instead of placing it in his palm Gaster gripped his hand. Kip looked up at him, and Gaster appeared to forget what he’d been about to say.   
“Did you uh... nevermind.” He loosened his hand. Kip turned it over and began warming it. Gaster sipped his coffee and took a breath. “How’d you end up here, exactly?”   
“…Here?”   
“Well… yes. I mean, did you volunteer to do this?” Kip nodded. “Huh.”   
Gaster appeared to have exhausted himself with this brief conversation. He didn’t speak again for the rest of the meal.

As usual, Gaster was the first out, zooming up to his study. Dierk blocked Kip from following him out, eyebrow just slightly raised.   
“Why’d you lie?”   
“…It seemed reasonable.”   
“Mm. He was asking me about you last night.” Kip cocked his head. “He asked where you were from. I told him I didn’t know, and he should ask you.” He chuckled. “It’s encouraging. I was afraid he’d keep ignoring you.”   
“…I think he’s still getting used to me.”   
“Maybe.”   
Dierk moved away.   
…Kip was getting a ‘do your fucking job’ vibe from him and it offended him on a personal level.   
That said, Gaster was taking his sweet time to warm up to him. But Kip didn’t feel it was the kind of thing he could rush. The important part of all this was earning his trust.


	7. Rook

Kip had some questions. He lay on the couch considering, watching the winter sunlight break like glass across the ceiling above him.

First of all, he hadn’t seen anything about Gaster’s research on SOULs, and that was odd because it had been his specialty, and, next to the Core, the work that gathered the most interest. The humans had certainly known about it. There were several possibilities that he could think of.  
One, he’d already told them everything, but they hadn’t found a way to exploit the information and had prompted him to work on more easily weaponizable projects instead.  
Two, he’d told them everything, they had plans for using the information, but were holding back for now, for reasons of their own.  
Two point five, maybe they were already working on it. No way to know.  
Three, he hadn’t told them everything, which was why they hadn’t used the knowledge, and they had turned their attention elsewhere. Perhaps Gaster had managed to convince them that it was a useless subject to pursue during a war: he would have had to lie very convincingly to make that work. This was less likely, but still a possibility.    
Four, Gaster was still researching SOULs, but Kip had missed the notes, or there weren’t any notes in the study at the moment.  
Five, the humans didn’t trust him at all, had confiscated his existing notes and passed them on to human scientists to interpret. This was one of the likeliest possibilities.  
Six: Infinite variations on the above, or explanations that Kip hadn't thought of yet. 

And then there was the matter of the proposed chemical weapons. He didn’t know enough about what was going on there to guess at Gaster’s motives yet. Was he trying to escape? Leaving the house would theoretically mean lowered security and a better chance. Was he trying to get back to his lab, for whatever Gasterly reasons of his own? Trying to stall? Or entirely complicit?

Kip let his mind drift to the mechanical papers, especially the ones that had been burned. He wondered what they related to. He didn’t think he’d be able to tell for certain just from the scrambled bits of information Gaster left around the floor. It could be the Core; after all he had the blueprints, or at least parts of them, right there, and the humans probably wanted him to suggest maintenance and upgrades.  
But he didn’t think that was right. What he’d glanced over didn’t look like information relating to a power plant, it looked more theoretical and bizarre—but then, he didn’t trust himself to know. Kip cursed his lack of scientific knowledge and decided not to theorize yet.  

The door opened quietly and Gaster walked in, swung it shut by leaning his weight against the doorknob, and stood staring at him like a fugitive. Kip sat up with a quiet huff.  
“That detestable human just barged into my study without knocking,” said Gaster, leaving the door and skittering aimlessly around the room. "I hate him."   
Kip thought he was shaking, and he could hear his breaths, a bit faster than normal. Dierk slamming doors open unannounced was more than enough to set off an already jittery person, Kip thought.  
“Dierk? Me too,” he said.  
Gaster laughed humorlessly, running his fingers over the books without looking at them.  
“He’s in there messing around with my papers, pretending to dust. Because apparently that can’t wait until I’m done.”  
Gaster was never done work at a reasonable hour, but this wasn’t the time to mention that. Pretending to dust, was he? Gaster seemed more or less aware of what Dierk was, at least. Kip tried to decide whether or not that was good. It might make Gaster more likely to trust him as an alternative, or it might just make him less likely to trust anyone in general. In any case, it showed that Gaster wasn’t completely stupid or deluded.    
Kip made a sympathetic noise.  
“Well, at least you’re in here now. Isn’t the sunlight beautiful?”  
Gaster stopped, blinked, and looked around as if searching for a marble he’d dropped.  
“…….yes.”  
He stared at Kip for a moment, then scanned the room, evidently trying to decide what to do.    
Kip rose slowly and walked behind the couch, to where a chess table and two chairs stood against the bookshelves.  
“Do you play chess?”  
Gaster looked up.  
“Che... Yes. I mean, I haven’t in a long time, do you?”  
“Yes.”  
“…Right.”  
Kip cradled a rook in his hand and blew on it. It was dusty. Dierk really did only pretend to dust.  
“Would you play me?”  
“Sure. Now? Yes fine.”  
Kip sat, replacing the rook. Gaster joined him on the other side of the chessboard and looked quizzically, briefly, at his face, then dropped his gaze to Kip’s forearms, resting on the edge of the table. Kip had taken to wearing his sleeves rolled: Gaster seemed to like looking at his arms, unless he did it because he didn’t know where else to look. It was hard to tell with him.  
Kip decided it was the former as Gaster’s eyes followed the motion of his hand to a pawn and then back to the table and lingered for a moment before returning to the pawn.

Gaster shoved out a pawn from the middle without looking at it. He was either very good or very careless.

He was careless. Kip beat him easily, and Gaster stared at the board for a few moments with two of his teeth just visible.  
“…Huh.”  
“Rematch?”  
“Yeah. Uh, I’m out of practice, as I said.”  
Kip nodded, resetting the pieces.  
This time he won spectacularly. He’d been holding back for the first game. When he was done Gaster stared at the board for several moments with one eye half-squinted. Kip smiled.  
“…I’m trying to decide if I’m really terrible or if you’re really good. Or both. I’m leaning towards both.”  
“You’re out of practice,” Kip reminded him. Gaster snorted.  
“Is there anything you’re not good at?”  
“Painting, for one. I tried it once. It was a humbling experience.”  
“Really. What’d you paint?”  
“Oh, your standard pastoral scenes. Wildflowers in the woods. Shepherds. Very bland and not very well done. My sheep looked like they’d been drawn with chalk by a five-year-old. Blobby wooden legs.” He smiled, noticing that Gaster was, for once, looking at his face.  
“I like your voice,” Gaster said suddenly, then snapped his teeth together as if startled.  
“Thank you.”  
“Is it.. always like that?”  
Kip cocked his head. His voice was a low purr reminiscent of powder-dry leaves catching fire.  
“Like..?”  
“Has it… always been that quiet.”  
“I’ve always been quiet, yes. People tend to mishear my name when I first introduce myself. Kit, Kid, Kim. Mic. Tim. Someone heard it as Ricard once.. I’m not sure how he got that.”  
Gaster nodded.  
“Thanks. Just… wondered.” His gaze returned to Kip’s arms. Then he clasped his hands together in front of his mouth and exhaled loudly. “I think I can at least put up a decent fight this time.”  
“Oh, you want to play again?” Kip began resetting the board. This was the longest they’d interacted yet; and probably the most time Gaster had spent outside his study in a month. Kip would be happier about it if it weren’t giving Dierk more time to snoop around. Although, he doubted that either of them could actually prevent Dierk from snooping around.  
“I’ll go easy on you,” said Kip, sliding a pawn back into place.  
“No you will not!” shouted Gaster.  
“Alright, I won’t. En garde.”  
“Ruaaar.”  
…That was. A snarl. The kind of snarl a puppy gives when you try to pull a sock out of its mouth. Kinda cute.  
Kip was making a conscious effort to notice cute things about Gaster, because if he didn’t he’d probably dwell on the unappealing things, which wouldn’t be helpful for his mission. And there was a lot that failed to appeal to him about romancing a skeleton.   
This time Gaster put real thought into his moves. Kip didn’t think he had a strategy reaching past a couple of moves, but he was doing fairly well. Colossally better than he had in the first two games. But he seemed to be burning out. Finally after he’d stared at the board for nearly two minutes he tossed up his hands.  
“I forfeit.”  
“Are you sure? You were doing well this time.”  
“Better, ish, I know.” Gaster leaned back in his chair, kicked Kip in the shins, sat back up quickly and made sputtering sounds that Kip assumed were intended for an apology.  
“Would you like to finish this later?” said Kip.  
“Later?”  
“After dinner maybe.”  
“I work then.”  
“You work all day. You should try to relax after dinner. You mentioned you weren’t sleeping well? Maybe it’s because you never give your mind a rest.”  
“Yeah well…” Gaster made spacey motions with his hands. “I mean you’re probably right. Sure. You want to?”  
“I’m certainly not busy.”  
“Hm. Oh. Yeah, there’s not much to do around here. Are you bored?”  
Kip visibly hesitated before saying, “No.”  
Gaster gave him an unconvinced look. Lovely. Kip thought he was at a stable enough place to give Gaster a minor guilt trip if it meant coaxing him out of the study.  
“There are plenty of books,” Kip continued, eagerly. “And anyway, it’s nice just to rest. I like the garden. Sometimes I just sit and look at it.”  
“Huh.”  
“Oh I’ve been meaning to ask you, would the piano distract you from your work?”  
“Oh! Nnn—ehh—” Gaster grappled with this question for much longer than you would expect someone to if their answer were going to be a simple yes or no.  
“Yes?” Prompted Kip.  
“Well… I want you to play it!”  
“In the evenings, would that be better?”  
“..yes.” Gaster looked narrowly at him. “You’re going to force me out of the study, aren’t you? You’re as bad as Dierk.”  
“At least I don’t barge in without knocking.” He smiled. “You’d be able to hear it better.” He patted the chessboard. “And maybe beat me, once you get back in practice.”  
“Or at least die with honor!”  
“A worthy ambition.”  
“Heh.”  
Gaster made eye contact, held it for a moment, then dropped his eyes. A moment later he stood.  
“I’ll.. get back to work. He’s probably gone now.”  
Kip wondered what he’d been thinking.

When he was gone Kip stretched, stepped into the brightest space of floor and danced a few steps of a jig. Progress was finally happening. He’d started to wonder if he was doomed to be forever an ignored and useless ornamental fixture in the house. Maybe he’d get out of here before the war was completely over, after all.  
Now, that was a question. What would he do if the war ended before he could get out? Just stay there and give up? There were so many things that could go wrong and prevent him from leaving the house again that he hadn’t really considered this particular one, and the thought didn’t bother him. More than likely he’d get killed first, by Snowflower on account of being a less than perfect Companion or by Dierk for being too nosy or by any other number of people in the area who’d want him dead if they knew who he was, or who wanted him dead already on account of being a monster. Hell, even Gaster might have an as-yet-unrevealed sadistic streak, and Kip was contractually obliged to submit to murder. In the meantime however, no one suspected him and they were giving him free food. He was as close to content as he’d been since the night the barricades went up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: SCANDALOUS SCANDALOUS SOCK MENTION!!! Things are heating up as you can see. (That sentence was said with extreme sarcasm.)


	8. Botanical

 The next day was his seventh. That morning instead of waking him with a knock Dierk came into the room and placed a slip of paper in his hand.  
“You get the day off. Report here after breakfast.”  
Kip looked down at the paper. It was an address, followed by the word ‘lilies.’ Well that’s not ominous at all.

He wondered, as he warmed Gaster’s hands, whether Dierk would bring it up. Evidently, no. He was set on acting his part, so Kip would need to attempt to explain this himself.  
“It’s my day off,” Kip said, releasing Gaster’s left hand. Gaster looked at him in surprise.  
“Huh. So.. what, I’m not supposed to pester you today?”  
“No, I get to go outside.”  
“OK.” Gaster reached for a roll, then froze. “Wait you mean out into the town?” he whipped towards Dierk. “He gets to go _outside_ , outside?” Dierk nodded. “Can I go?”  
“No. It’s not safe.” Said Dierk.  
“Oh, but he can go?”  
“He has combat training.”  
Gaster sighed and dug divots out of the roll with his pointed fingertips.  
“So I can’t just go _with_ him if he has combat training?”  
“He’s only one monster. It would be unwise.”  
Gaster made an unpleasant noise and buried his head in his hands. Then he lifted it and shook himself, shooting an unreadable glance at Kip.  
“Oh uh.. have a good time.”  
Kip nodded. Gaster resumed picking at his roll.  
“I’m sorry you can’t come,” said Kip. Gaster laughed. “I’ll bring you something.”  
“Huh.”  
Kip took a moment to absorb the fact that an allowance had never been discussed. He definitely wasn’t receiving a salary as such. Hm. Time to make Sans proud.  
“Actually,” said Gaster, “uh—hey, can you buy me a sweater?”  
“A sweater? What kind of sweater?”  
“A… sweater kind!” said Gaster, looking slightly angry to be reminded that inferior degrees of Sweater might also be referred to with the term ‘sweater’. Then, stooping to clarify, “a knitted pullover warm kind. I used to have a sweater collection at home but I didn’t get to bring it with me.”  
This was true (or at least that he hadn’t brought any sweaters with him) because Kip had looked in his closet and there weren’t any.  
“I’ll try,” said Kip. “Do you have any preferences on color, type…?”  
“Um, darkish? Thick and texturedy. I don’t like overly soft things.”  
“Overly soft things?... like silk?”  
“Yeah! I hate silk, it feels like you’re wearing mud. Or slime, or something gross.”  
“Mh. I hadn’t thought about it like that.”  
“I know, it’s weird.”  
“No—”  
“I also hate bright colors.”  
“…I will keep that in mind. What else do you hate?”  
“Loud dogs spoons dancing pencils and the number eight.”  
“…Spoons.”  
“Spoons,” snarled Gaster. “I’ve gotten used to them obviously, because they keep turning up on tables where I am.” he picked up his teaspoon and glared at it, then put it back down. Kip’s head was whirling. He kept his face neutral.  
“Dancing?”  
“I don’t like having my center of gravity disrupted.”  
“Makes sense. Have you.. had bad experiences associated with the number eight?”  
“No, I just hate the way it looks like a weird blobby beheaded snowman. And it’s hard to write, it just turns into an illegible squiggle. And—I don’t know, do I need to have reasons for hating things? Nobody ever makes you give a reason for _liking_ something.”  
“Mh. That’s true.  
Several seconds passed. Gaster squinted at his spoon.  
“Ah… what… what do you hate? Do you.. hate things?” he asked Kip.  
“..I think everyone has at least a few dislikes, yes.” Shit, what _did_ he dislike? This was very much not an appropriate time to bring up his hatred for the Ascendant Republic. Kip scrambled and managed to dredge up some memories from his past life. “I dislike poorly drained streets and the smell of fish. I fell off a fishing wharf and nearly died when I was very young, ever since, the smell makes me want to gag.”  
“Oh. Ew. Yeah geez that sounds scary.”  
“I also detest cough medicine. There’s no way it needs to be as disgusting as it is just to work.”  
“I kinda like cough medicine.”  
“...Then you are stronger than I will ever be,” said Kip with a smile.  
“There are probably different kinds of cough syrup,” reflected Gaster. “Maybe you got the gross one.”  
Was that casual, comfortable small talk, from Gaster? Kip internally rejoiced. Small victories.  
Of course, Gaster mumbled the last sentence quickly, cut himself off on the last word and dove at his coffee as if to pretend he hadn’t said anything, then went into a restrained coughing fit. So, not entirely comfortable, but better.

There was a heavy black coat with an arm band hanging in the back of Kip’s closet. He took it out and shook it, acquainting himself with its weight, then put it on. The skirts trailed behind him like a cape. He swung his arms, testing range of movement, and touched the armband. It was marked with the Monster symbol, a point-up triangle fractured down the middle, but blue instead of red. At the beginning of the War the Republic had promised to hand these out to all gainfully employed Monsters or those in their direct families, with priority to doctors and scientists. Then it was only doctors and scientists. Then the dustings happened and people stopped talking about armbands. But evidently there were still a few around. It gave Kip a degree of legitimacy. He wondered how much. Thinking of the cold, windy, purely human-populated streets outside gave him a sudden disinclination to leave the house. Unpleasant as it was, he wasn’t sure the outside would be better.  
He headed into the hall and found Dierk leaning by the front door. He leisurely shifted up into a less casual position as Kip walked towards him.  
“Ah, you found your coat.”  
Kip nodded.  
“Are you going to let me out?”  
“Hold on. Here’s your pass, keep it on you.”  
Kip took the booklet and flipped through it, then slid it carefully into a pocket of his suitcoat.  
“Why wasn’t I given this before? Seems important.”  
“You weren’t going to leave. You’ll give it back to me when you get back, for safekeeping.”  
“Mh.” Note: ‘you will’, not ‘please do’.  
Dierk pulled two objects out of two opposite pockets.  
“Put out your hands.” He slapped a wallet in one hand. “Your allowance for the month.” He pressed some bills into the other. “And that’s for a sweater.”  
Ah. He wouldn’t need to test out Sans’ petty theft techniques. He was almost disappointed.  
“Mh,” said Kip approvingly.  
Dierk opened the door.  
“There’s a car.”  
“Really? Thank you for mentioning that.”  
“Attitude,” said Dierk.  
Kip paused in the doorway and tapped the solid wood of the door.  
“How do I get back in?”  
“You knock.”  
“Any time limit?”  
“Be back by dinner.”  
“That sounds easy.”  
“One would hope.”  
He walked down the steps, placing his weight carefully in case of ice. There was none. A black car idled in the street, otherwise empty. He got in.

It was a greyish day, light cloud cover, winds crisp and cold. Kip sat with his head tilted close to the window, watching buildings slide by. Some of this he dimly recognized. He’d gone to school here, what felt like a long time ago.  
He purposefully avoided reminiscence, letting recognition spark and fade without connecting with the images hidden in the back of his mind. He didn’t have time for that. And it was useless.  
He was here to do one job, and at the moment, the humans and the monsters agreed on what that was. Soon, he hoped, he’d figure out where they differed, and he’d be able to make his move.  
He refocused his eyes, looking at the flicker of his own dim reflection across the glass, wondering again, what _was_ Gaster’s game? Maybe nothing more than fear and the will to survive at whatever cost. Maybe he’d been broken enough by what happened that he even believed the humans’ propaganda. Maybe he just didn’t care who won as long as he came out on top. Then... this was an interesting idea. Maybe he viewed engineering a quick and painless death for the monsters as his last act of loyalty to them. If he believed they were all going to die anyway, at least he could help the humans kill them all peacefully, in their sleep, without extending the suffering.  
The buildings, and his reflection, faded away for a moment as Kip saw himself at the crest of a great wave of death that had only just begun breaking. In any case, he’d ride it down, and he’d see it breaking. And he was going to take some people down with him. Gaster and Dierk at least, but he found himself wondering whom else he could hunt down in this city before they caught him...  
Sans was here. Sans would try to stop him, so he wouldn’t get himself killed, because Sans was young and still had a strong survival instinct that refused to let him believe defeat was the only option. He’d need to figure out some way not to involve Sans... Sans wasn’t going to leave without him, was he? Ah well, it was all the same in the end. And he might not even get a chance.  
As for Gaster, anyway, he still didn’t know for certain what was appropriate. He may not even have to kill him, though he was still leaning toward that possibility.  
He gave a faint chuckle. Fuck-marry-kill? Sans would appreciate that, the little ass.

The car stopped. They were in front of the botanical gardens.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but not this.

The gardens sprawled jungle-like inside a massive conservatory, curved spires of glass arching up towards the cold sky.  
Ah. ‘Lilies.’

As he walked towards it across the pavement, a mother with a baby carriage and a toddler was leaving, turning to walk perpendicular to him. The toddler noticed him. His head jerked up like it was on a string, and he lunged closer to his mother and clung to her skirt. She stopped, looking around with a frown, and saw Kip. Her face froze. She didn’t move, but watched him narrowly until he had reached the door.

Welcome home, thought Kip as the attendant rifled noisily through his papers with repeated glances at his armband.

It was warm inside and the air was damp, syrupy and unpleasant against his skin. He walked through patches of shadow, beneath massive bursts of greenery towering above stone paths. It was a weekday and practically empty, but the humans who were there either avoided looking at him or wouldn’t look at anything else until he’d passed.  
He remembered when this place had been crowded with noise and music, monsters and humans mingling together. The conservatory was a feat of science; keeping it warm and bright and filled with light through the long winter was a visible expression of hope and goodwill. It was a good place to come if you felt sick in body or mind. The place always felt ten times brighter than anywhere else in the city. But winter or summer it had always been a central hub of the city’s life.

He walked quickly, looking for lilies. Keeping good posture. Looser than the army step, a bit of a swing to it, nothing fake, just a suggestion of smoothness. He felt that he walked through a silent army of ghosts, echoes of the past life that had once filled the place, before it fell to this breathless hush.  
He found the Grandfather in one of the corners, a curved lozenge of glass arching up behind him, a field of red-blooming lilies at his feet. He was seated comfortably at a tea table by itself, separated from the path by the lilies, and wore a taffy-colored scarf tossed jauntily over one shoulder to protect against drafts from sitting so close to the cold glass. The light shone on a bowl of golden apples and a silver coffeepot. By the time Kip noticed him, he too was watching Kip, with a casually appreciative glance that lingered on him as he stepped through the lilies and settled on the chair opposite.  
“Good morning Grandfather,” said Kip. The human beamed at him and poured him a cup of coffee. Kip mentally calculated how long it would take him to snap his teacup saucer into a shiv and dive across the table, then how much blood the Grandfather would have to lose before his massive body would stop moving.  
He added cream.  
“So how’s it been going?” said the Grandfather, folding his hands across his stomach and smiling indulgently. “Tell me about yourself.”  
“It’s going all right,” said Kip. “He’s a bit shy. I think he’s still getting used to me. But he definitely likes me.”  
“Oh, that’s good! Hmf. He is an odd little creature. I don’t think he’s had many visitors. Well, be patient with him. What have you done so far?”  
Kip told him in brief.  
“And I’ve managed to get him to start playing chess with me.”  
“Excellent. What will you try next?”  
“Mh. Mostly I’m just waiting for him to get used to me, but a little help wouldn’t hurt.”  
“Your ideas?”  
Kip half-smiled.  
“Passive-aggressive gift-giving.”  
“Really! What, now?”  
“To make him pay attention to me. Just little things. Paper flowers.”  
“Well. That’s an idea.”  
Kip nodded.  
“I think he’ll appreciate it.”  
“Well, very good then! Is there anything you need?”  
Yes, actually, I’d like to see your intestines, wrapped around a pole.  
“No, Grandfather. Thank you.”

It was not yet ten when Kip left the gardens, an apple that the Grandfather had given him lying hard against his hip. He was free, technically, until evening, if he chose to remain out that long. He wasn’t sure that he would. The lingering glances and the way people shied away from walking too close to him were making him uneasy. But he had things to buy first. Paper for flowers, and some kind of dark sweater.  
The car pulled up, and Kip made a dismissive motion at the driver, who slid away again with a resigned expression. Kip briefly entertained a mean joy in finding someone lower on the food chain than Kip himself.

He avoided looking at any of the humans he passed, in case it might be seen as an act of aggression. He tried to make himself look as unassuming as possible. It wasn’t easy given his height, the added appearance of bulk given by the wide black coat, and the fact that he was a walking light source. But no one questioned him.

Shops would be downhill. He started in that direction, a wind from the distant sea ruffling his flames. He could just see it from here, a silver gleam over the roofs of houses, slipping out of view as he started down. He couldn’t see the lake but knew it lay dull and grey somewhere behind and to his left. The ice was still thin at the moment, but a few daredevils would be out walking on it already, close to shore.

There was a small park in a gap between two buildings, the ground caked with snow, the branches of the trees iron claws against the sky. A young human had brushed off part of the bench and was sitting there tossing crumbs onto the path for birds, which flapped away as Kip approached. The kid looked up.  
“Uh, heya.”  
Kip glanced at him, and he nervously brushed at the side of his face with his right hand. Something about the manner of the movement, combined with his height and build, clicked in his head, and Kip’s soul leapt. He recognized the gesture, it was one of the hand signs Sans and Papyrus’ father had come up with, and which they had expanded on after his death. Sans had taught them to Kip in case they had ever needed to communicate silently, but they hadn’t until now. Which was that one? Kip realized he’d confused right and left: it was either “no” or “you’re being followed.”  
Probably the second one. Well how very unsurprising.  
“You’re the first person who’s spoken to me,” said Kip, pausing to turn towards him. As he swung his outside hand around he rubbed the middle finger with his thumb in the “OK” sign.  
Sans had been given a glamour. Kip couldn’t believe it. But it would certainly make things easier for Sans, so he was relieved. It was a good one: he could see the boy’s pupils dilate slightly as they focused on him, and the sea wind flicking the curly hair around his forehead. His hands were thickly gloved to keep any distortion from showing when he handled the crumbs, and the rest of him was covered in winter clothes. It would work.  
Glamour magic existed, but it was never easy to come by, and for obvious reasons the prices had rocketed into the astronomical when the dustings started. Then the humans had decided to crack down on them and they had almost disappeared. There were a few monsters who could design them, but they were always in high demand and Kip had never been in a situation compelling enough to have one given to him. Neither, until now, had Sans.  
Unless this really wasn’t Sans. But the attitude, the expression... it was exactly how Sans as a human would look.  
“Heh,” said Sans, “s’cold out, guess they save their breath.” And as he spoke he twisted one wrist around in the opposite hand, straightening the sleeve, then flexed his fingers while adjusting the glove. “You” and “Safe.” Stay safe? Or a question, are you safe?  
Kip nodded to him.  
“Well, keep warm.”  
He risked a simple thumbs-up before heading on, because it was the best way he could think of to signal ‘don’t worry about me, I’m fine.’  
He wondered if his follower would stop to question Sans, or if their interaction had been brief enough that they wouldn’t bother. He wondered whether they had the resources to keep track of him and follow him later.  
He knew Sans could take care of himself, but he had to suppress an urge to look back over his shoulder.

He’d rather they had sent anyone but Sans. There were any number of decently skilled, currently out of commission spies they could have sent, but no it had to be his own partner. It was a distraction.  
But it had been good to see him.

He spent somewhere between one and two hours finding what he wanted. He bought a sheaf of colored paper and looked at a few sweaters. Most of them had bright colors woven into the dark, or were colored all over. Gaster hadn’t said anything about patterns, but he guessed that he didn’t care for them, especially not in bright colors. The few plain ones he found were thin and he was unimpressed. Finally he encountered an old woman selling remade and secondhand clothing, who had a plain charcoal-colored sweater knitted in a dense, heavily textured stitch which formed small knobby squares. He stood running his fingers over it for several minutes, feeling torn. It looked new. Gaster had said ‘texturedy,’ right? Finally he bought it.

He located the car, still circling listlessly around in his general vicinity, and waved it down. The driver gave him a disgusted look as he got in. Kip smiled at him.

He was back a few minutes after noon and knocked at the door, pressing against it as he waited. The walk had been nice enough, but he was ready to get back inside. The house had become a place of comparative safety. It was a controlled environment, at least, where he could keep track of his threats.  
He wondered where Sans was staying, how he’d known where Kip would be and how he would get back. How much time did he spend watching the house? It must be horribly dull. Sans had always hated the surveillance part of missions.  
After a while the door opened.  
“You’re back early,” said Dierk as he walked in. The door shut and locked behind him with a solid sound. He sighed.  
There was a clattering sound of something dropping the sunroom, then Gaster shot into the hallway, flailed his arms to stop himself from crashing into the wall, veered away from it and came several steps closer to them before stopping himself with a final stabilizing flail.  
“You’re back!”  
“Hey,” said Kip, smiling. Gaster had looked... almost close to happy when he first skidded into the hallway. In the half-second before he noticed the wall and began panicked evasive maneuvers. Kip came closer and handed him the sweater, which was wrapped up in brown paper. Gaster took it and looked at it blankly, then squeezed it and felt the give of soft fabric. His eyes lit up.  
“What’s... Oh!” He unwrapped it and pulled the sweater loose, stared at it for a moment, then buried his face in it. Kip suddenly wondered uncomfortably if the sweater smelled. He didn’t think so, but he hadn’t checked quite as thoroughly as—well no, Gaster wasn’t smelling it, he was rubbing his face against  it.  
“...Do you like it?” said Kip. There was a faint squeaking sound from somewhere inside the folds of sweater.  
“I’ll go find you some food,” said Dierk. Kip fished the change from buying the sweater out of his pocket and held it out to him along with his pass. “What?”  
“It wasn’t a bad price.”  
“Well how honest of you.” Dierk took the money—and the pass—and disappeared.  
“It’s perfect,” said Gaster, resurfacing from the sweater, grinning. “Thank you.”  
“I’m glad you like it.”  
Gaster struggled into the sweater, tugged the sleeves into place and hugged himself tightly with a little purling sound. Kip stepped forward.  
“May I?”  
“Huh?”  
His collar had gotten bunched under the sweater, Kip tugged it free and straightened it, then nodded.  
“Looks good.”  
He felt that that was a generous statement. It was a bit big for Gaster, not having been made for a creature without flesh, and hung with an unflattering limpness from the sharp corners of his shoulders. But Gaster looked happy. Happier than Kip had ever seen him. Huh. So it was possible to make him happy. Kip quietly congratulated himself on the idea of flowers.  
“Did you run out here for the sweater, or for me?” said Kip, cocking his head teasingly.  
“Oh I forgot all about the sweater. I mean I’s... I was, like 90% sure Dierk is exaggerating quite a lot about how dangerous it is around here? Just to walk around? But I mean, terrible things have been happening and... I don’t know, I’m sure you can take care of yourself, it just made me kinda worried, having heard him talk about it so much like that.”  
Well how adorable. He cares, or acts like it. What is up with that?  
(Kip amused himself by making mental barfing sounds.)  
He didn’t think Gaster was acting, he didn’t seem to have it in him to be that calculating. He couldn’t rule it out yet, but for now he’d take his behavior at face value. He was right: Gaster liked him already.  
“Aw. Well, I’m alive, as you can see.”  
“Yes I know that. I’m just glad you’re back.”  
“Thanks.”  
Gaster, starting to return to his usual awkwardness as the sweater high faded, nodded jerkily, fiddled with his sweater sleeves and then backed towards the sunroom.

Kip went to his room, hung up his coat and hid the sheaf of papers and the apple in the desk drawer along with the doll, which he pushed gently to the back.

 

**A/N: *surfaces briefly from a sea of finals* I’M BAAAAAA—*is pulled under again***

**Special thanks to FollowerofMercy for chatting and providing me with motivation in the form of art and words while I was working on this! Kip’s realization about a quick and painless genocide was directly inspired by something she said.**

**She also made me write about a oneshot about Kip's 'training' because apparently "I am specifically going to avoid talking about this At All because it's so bad" is not good enough for some people :p (thanks for making me tho it's a good oneshot)**

[The Bonus Oneshot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12688713)

[The Art](https://trefoil-underscore.deviantart.com/favourites/75001016/Snowflower)


	9. Cinnamon

Dierk came out of the kitchen and raised an eyebrow at Kip, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms folded.  
“Can I have scissors?” said Kip.  
“What do you want them for?”  
“Paper.”  
“You don’t say.”  
“I’m making flowers.”  
“Huh. Alright, how many?”  
“Why?”  
“I guess I can watch you do it.”  
“...Never mind. I don’t need the scissors. I had another question.”  
“A pair of knitting needles, perhaps?”  
“I was wondering if I could bake something.”  
“What.”  
“An apple,” said Kip, though he didn’t think that was how Dierk had meant it.  
“An apple. Why?”  
“It’s the easiest way to imbue it with magic.”  
Dierk turned his head sideways. Huh. That was the first time Kip had seen him look completely flummoxed. He was proud.  
“Magically prepared food just tastes better to us,” he explained.  
“This is for Gaster?”  
“Yes.”  
“I don’t see the point. Can’t you just give him the apple?”  
“It’s only an apple. Inert. It’s not interesting.”   
Dierk sighed.  
“If you insist. How are you going to do it?”  
“I’m not sure yet. What do we have?”  
Dierk considered for a moment, then stepped to the side and nodded toward the kitchen.  
“Don’t touch the eggs, I’ve got just enough for the next week.”  
“Mh.”  
Knives. No wonder this room was kept locked. They looked like nice chef knives, three holstered in a block. Knives were a truly excellent tool of murder; you could kill someone pretty easily with a rock or a piece of window or your hands, but having a long, sharpened tool with a smooth handle just opened up the realm of possibilities.  
That wasn’t why he was there, regrettably. Kip ignored the knives and peered into a cabinet.  
“What _am_ I allowed to use?”  
“I don’t mind you getting into the flour. _Small_ amounts of the butter. And whatever you find in there. I haven’t cleaned it out, some it’s from before the Cleansing.”  
From before the War. Ah. Well, anything important which had been rationed later, like tea or sugar, had been swept up pretty quickly, but there were still an assortment of spices and a tin of very dry raisins. Kip shook the tin experimentally and it made a rattling noise. Sounded more like a tin of nails than anything edible.  
“Mh. You’ve been saving breadcrumbs?”  
“Yes. Are you going to take those too?”  
Oh, Will it terribly upset the balance of the world? Kip thought.  
“Please?” Kip said, with a little smile.  
Dierk sighed.  
“Take ‘em.”  
“Thank you.”  
Kip took a bowl, shook a few of the raisins into it, and added a generous amount of cinnamon, along with a sprinkle of allspice. The cinnamon would add a hint of sweetness along with flavor, that along with the natural sweetness of the fruit was more than sweet enough for a dessert in wartime. (Unless you were Snowflower. Perhaps that was how they’d found the other monsters, just tied a cookie to a string and dangled it enticingly in front of dark alleyways until someone ran out.)  
Optimally a sturdy variety of red apple would be used, but this was good enough for what he had. As long as he didn’t overcook it. Golden apples were among the softer varieties and he didn’t want it to turn into a ball of mush. It probably would, to some extent, but oh well.    
He took a bowl of water, heated it to steaming in his hand, and splashed some over the mixture, shaking it around in the bowl to mix it. He smelled it.  
“Mh. Mind if I finish tomorrow?”  
“How long will it take?”  
“Half an hour.”  
“Alright. Don’t get in the way.”  
“I won’t.”

The main difference between monster and human foods was preparation; food prepared with magic was naturally imbued with it to some extent, which made it easier for monsters to break down. Some monster foods were made entirely from magic, but not all, and there was a lot of overlap with human foods. What he and Gaster had been eating, however, was completely magically inert, human-prepared food, so it took twice as much energy to break down and half of the energy was wasted just on digestion. Also it tasted flat.  
There was no way to change the physical makeup of the apple of course, but he could imbue it with magic. Cooking was the easiest way to get a large amount soaked into it. Raw magic could be transferred between bodies, or objects, if you knew how to do it. Kip did. But getting it to take was the problem. He didn’t fancy expending a large amount of his own store of magic just to give the apple of hint of it, so cooking was the much more feasible option.

He returned to his room, took out a sheet of blue paper, folded it in half and separated the halves with a lick of flame along the crease, then carefully burned one half into petal-shaped pieces and folded them together, bending them first to give an outward curve to the edges. When he was done he turned it over in his hands, poking at it carefully to make sure it held. It was a little lopsided and looked like a strange cross between a lily and a rose, or maybe some sort of triple-lily? Ah well, it was a good start. The black-edged petals had a distinctive look. It occurred to him that there was a lot he could do with his fire magic and paper.  
He placed it in the drawer with his other items.  
Funny, actually, thinking of any of this as ‘his.’ Everything he owned was in another’s interests; Gaster’s first of all, and ultimately Snowflower’s. Except for the doll. He took it out for a moment and weighed it in his hand.  
It occurred to him to wonder what Dierk would think of it.  
...Perhaps he should hide it.  
He was being silly. ...Well, no. Technically he should have reported it when he first found it, since it was a relic from the previous owners and therefore a security risk. It wasn’t, really, but he still ought to have reported it, and the fact that he hadn’t made this an act of insubordination. Minor, but nothing was minor to Snowflower.  
God damn it. Why had he kept the thing? Was he that needy? He had to have something he could call his own? Maybe he should just burn it and eat the ashes.  
He stuffed it inside the lampshade and made a mental note not to use that lamp, instead. He also made a mental note to watch himself for signs of mental distress. There was a _slight_ chance he wasn’t actually taking this all as well as he’d thought.  

Later that night he was woken by the sound of his door opening. He lay without moving and waited.  
The door shut again, softly, and there were two soft clicks like bone against hardwood. Gaster, then. It sounded like he’d moved to the side of the doorway. Kip waited, but heard nothing. Damn that skeleton build. Gaster wasn’t heavy enough to make the boards creak and it was inconvenient for keeping track of his location.  
Kip could try stealing a glance over his arm, which was thrown in front of his face, but his eyes were brighter than his skin and it would be too noticeable. He preferred to let Gaster think he was still sleeping. Besides, he was half blind without his glasses, even when he wasn’t in a darkened room.  
He continued to wait, pretending to be asleep, and nothing continued to happen, until there was a rasping sound followed by a smell of cigarette smoke.  
It didn’t seem like anything else was going to happen, and Kip was annoyed that Gaster had decided to come smoke in his room, which had previously been free of the lingering smell of stale smoke that several of the other rooms had. Kip decided to wake up. He waited until the smell had become easily noticeable, then sneezed loudly and sat up, blinking. There was a scrabbling sound from the opposite corner. He squinted at it. He couldn’t be sure but he thought he’d just seen Gaster sidestep into the corner and fold himself into a very small shape.  
“...Gaster?”  
“I don’t know why I’m here. Sorry,” he choked, then fumbled along the wall—Kip traced his movement as a spiderish shadow and a point of red light at the end of his cigarette—and plunged out the door, leaving it open.  
...Alright. Kip lay back down.  
A moment later Gaster was back, clawed around the doorframe for the door from where he was standing outside, reached it, and pulled it closed, hissing a final “sorry!”  
Graceful as ever.  
Well, that was something. “I don’t know why I’m here” huh? Cute.    
He was going to need a lot of encouragement before he opened up, but Kip guessed (hoped) that when his inhibitions went, they’d all go at once. He didn’t really know yet. He was infuriatingly hard to read.

The next morning it rained, probably the last rain of the season before the snows began to stick and linger in deep drifts. Kip didn’t mind the winter, all the white snow made the sunlight seem brighter, but the in-between area which was all clouds and shifting weather and damp made him grumpy. That was it, damp. The truly frozen, lasting white powder snow wasn’t damp, it was just cold, and cold he didn’t mind.

Dierk came to wake him early to finish his project. He was already lying awake, listening to the gentle wash of rain across the walls, the faint crinkle of falling, melting snow.

He brought the apple into the kitchen, cored it, and set it aside, then dumped some of the breadcrumbs into the mix of now much softer raisins and spice and mixed it all together, finally spooning it into the center of the cored apple so that it heaped gently over the top. He peeled a strip of the apple’s skin around the middle so it wouldn’t burst during cooking. Then he cupped the stuffed apple in his hands and focused his magic in a bubble of heat.  
Dierk leaned over his shoulder to watch, then shied away from the updraft of heat.  
“Huh, nifty. This is supposed to make it taste better, somehow?”  
“Mh.”  
“Alright, I’m supposed to give you free reign, so if you think it’s worth the trouble...”  
Kip shot him a mutely questioning look.  Dierk leant one hip against the counter and narrowed his silvery eyes to slits.  
“I don’t need you. I had my own plan, and it was working perfectly, but now you’ve come in and disordered everything.”  
Oh. Now, _that_ was interesting.  
“I was under the impression we were working for the same cause.”  
“Naturally,” said Dierk with a not-really-suppressed sneer, and left it at that. Of course, he wasn’t about to spill his own secrets to someone he barely trusted and openly resented.  
“...Different methods?” prodded Kip, ostensibly returning his focus to the apple, flooding it with an even amount of heat from all sides.  
“Precisely,” said Dierk lightly, “But you’re here now so I have to use you.”  
What pleasant wording. Also, Kip didn’t like the implication that he fit into Dierk’s master plan after all.  
“I take it you weren’t in favor of my assignment.”  
Dierk took a medium-sized knife from the block and flicked it, letting the blade flash a full rotation through the air before catching the handle with a solid slap in his palm, then balanced it on one finger and began slowly twirling it.  
Oh. Oh dear, is that supposed to be intimidating? I suppose I must begin acting intimidated. Oh no. Oooooh dear, that’s so intimidating. Aaa. Aaaaaaa. Help, the idiot manchild has a knife and he’s doing twirly shit with it. Aaaaaaa. Truly, I quiver with fear.  
Really, thought Kip, is that the best you can do? What are you, ten?  
“Kiddo, I have news, no one in this house wanted you here. The order came from higher up. They thought I was taking too long to get results, and they wanted another perspective, so they found you. I was informed of the decision after the fact and expected to strongarm Gaster into accepting it.”  
So Gaster had been forced into this. That cleared some of Kip’s questions up. He still wanted to know why this ridiculous show with the knife was happening. The, er, very intimidating knife. Yes. He gave it an uneasy glance and adjusted his position as if wishing he could move away.  
“He didn’t request me personally?”  
Dierk smiled acidly at Kip’s look of confusion.  
“He was requested to request you. You’re alive now because he needed to have the illusion of choice if you were to do your job at all properly. And if you stray by the slightest you’ll be killed without a second thought. I’d do it myself if I weren’t answerable for your life at the moment,” he said, sliding his eyes to the side in a way that showed his irritation at this development. He slipped the knife, blade first, from hand to hand. “But you already know that, don’t you? Snowflower is unforgiving at the best of times, and you must remember, pretty one, that you’re one of a dying breed, and you’re only buying yourself time. How much or how little depends on how well you play your game.” He looked intently at him. “I assume you do have a game to play, and you’re not just a pretty face.”  
Kip blinked twice and held his gaze.  
“I will take that as a personal challenge,” he said, voice low.  
“Good,” said Dierk, chuckling. “So ballsy! Didn’t they castrate you?”  
“..No.”  
“Oh right, no visible mutilation. Personally I disagree, but it’s a bit late to question now.” Yes, you hate me, I get it. What’s next, are you going to sing a song about it? “Not that Gaster has seen you naked yet, has he?”  
“...No?..”  
“Then he wouldn’t know it's not procedure.”  
“....” Oh is that what we’re doing. Of course. Nothing like threats of physical violence to get your message across. “...My superiors would...”  
“You expect them to listen to you?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well isn’t that nice. I might get my arm twisted a bit harder than it has been already. You’d like that, wouldn’t you. But I expect you’ll get the worse backlash, considering you’re required to protect your body.”  
Secondary to his current master and in said master’s interests, yes, Kip remembered.  
He tried to convince himself, against his better judgement, that the appropriate response to this was to break one of Dierk’s bones with a quick chop. Just one. He was practically daring him to. But that was it wasn’t it. This was a test. And he had to fail. If he did anything which didn’t agree with his training Dierk would be more than happy to report him unfit for work, and he didn’t doubt he’d be killed quickly after that. If he screwed up badly enough he might even reveal he’d had previous training, thus that he wasn’t who he’d said he was when he was picked up by Snowflower.  
He gauged his reactions. Dierk hadn’t pushed him far enough to warrant a hysterical outburst of any kind. Actual defense was off the table. Alright, stick with the confusion with an increasing undertone of pure terror dulled by an understanding of your own powerlessness.  
Dierk was holding the knife loosely. It would be so, so easy to step forward, twist it out of his grasp and slash downwards. With a good stroke he might disembowel him onto the kitchen floor.  
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice faint and almost breaking in the center. His flames sunk down, wavering close to his head. Dierk looked at him with amusement.  
“You got smaller, flaming flame.” He grinned widely. “Nothing at all, just clearing some things up.”  
“That I’m not wanted here, and that you can do whatever you want without repercussions.”  
“Oh good, we do understand one another. I know Gaster is intelligent, whatever indications I’ve seen to the contrary, but I have no such ideas about you.”  
Well you’re not exactly being subtle, meathead.  
“Thank you.”  
“Sarcasm does not equal intelligence. Often it’s a disguise for utter banality of thought.”  
“Please...do you mind?.. I need to focus,” said Kip, glancing at the apple.  
Magic could be tainted with emotion and he didn’t want the apple to taste like hatred. That would give mixed signals.  
“Oh of cooourse, don’t let me distract you,” said Dierk.  
He walked behind Kip and began clattering things around loudly on the counter.  
Kip blanked out his mind and wrapped the apple in very bland magic. I am not thinking about murder. I am not thinking about anything at all, except magic. Warm energy, gentle pulse. Heavy gold in my veins.  
Dierk dropped a metal bowl and let it bounce four times and clatter to a stop before quietly saying “oops” and picking it up.  
It was ridiculously petty and didn’t faze him.  
He shouldn’t have let himself get so angry before, either, it was distracting. Justified, but distracting. He didn’t need distractions. It wasn’t time for rage yet. It would be... in time.  
The coffee was boiling as Kip let the heat dissipate and sighed happily. The apple was cooked to perfection.  
“Done?” said Dierk.  
“Nearly,” said Kip, emptying his mind and closing his eyes. Slowly he gathered his magic into its raw form, a burning bright energy shivering inside him, held it for a moment as it gathered, then forced it out.  
He pressed his mouth to the apple and let semiliquid gold curl down around it and into his cupped hands, gleaming like sunlight and twisting like smoke, dissipating before it could reach the floor.  
Dierk made horrified choking noises which degraded into laughter.  
“What did I just see, did you just—barf magic on it??”  
“...Yes.”  
“Jesus. That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.”  
New story, local butler has never seen mirror, read all about it.  
“..it...isn’t for you.”  
Most of the magic had dissipated into the air, leaving him with a mildly drained feeling, but some of it had been absorbed into the apple. If he’d been around other monsters and eating their food Kip might not have even noticed the loss, but as it was his magic reserves were lower than usual. Gaster’s probably would be as well.  
“Wait, so, is—that’s, that was your magic?”  
“Yes.”  
“So uhh Gaster is going to—”  
“Consume some of my essence, yes, if you want to think about it like that, though at this point it’s only raw magic.” Dierk surrendered to a fit of the giggles. “Are you alright, sir?” said Kip in a strained voice.  
“Absolutely,” wheezed Dierk. “I can’t wait to see this. Are you going to tell him?”  
“That I prepared this using magic? He should be able to tell.”  
Dierk’s laughter continued. Kip feigned discomfort.  
“...What time is it...”  
“Time to wake him up. I’ll set the table if you do it.” He held out a plate for the apple, still snickering. “Monsters are disgusting.”

Kip knocked on Gaster’s door.  
“Yeah, coming!” said Gaster, muffled through the door.  
Kip waited for about a minute and heard nothing else. He knocked again.  
“Yeah! Jus’givme’minnit.” He waited a bit and heard nothing. He decided to try a different approach.  
“Gaster, can I come in?”  
“Huh?”  
“It’s Kip, can I come in?”  
“Yeah, sure!”  
He pushed open the door with a quiet click and found Gaster halfway sitting up in bed, propped on his arms and squinting dazedly at him.  
“Hey.” Said Gaster.  
“Good morning,” said Kip.  
Gaster slowly slid himself up to a proper sitting position and took the weight off his arms. His eyes were still mostly closed.  
He was wearing the sweater over his pajamas.  
Kip went to his closet and pulled out a clean shirt and pants. When he turned around Gaster was lying down again. He laid the clothes across the bottom of the bed and woke him a gentle shake of his shoulder. Gaster huffed and blinked up at him.  
“Heyyy. ‘unminnit. ...oh, Kip.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Kipp..p.”  
“Gaster?”  
“S’you. Hey.”  
He was going back to sleep. Kip lifted him and pulled him gently out from under the covers. He scrabbled awkwardly, then clung to Kip’s arm while Kip attempted to stand him on the floor.  
“Why’re you so warm? S’not fair. Sometimes I wish I had squishies.”  
“..Squishies?”  
“Uh, fleshmeat. Um. Wait is that offensive. Nothing against fleshmeat. Flesh? Fleshparts?? Muscle-coverings, _muscles_ that’s it. Like the shellfish. ... The day is off to a great start.”  
“I’m glad you approve of my fleshiness,” said Kip with a gentle edge of humor. “But skeletons are naturally skilled at magic.”  
Gaster made a wheezing sound like a laugh that had died somewhere on the way up from his lungs.  
“Nooot me.”  
“No?”  
“Hmmrhahah.” He dragged his shirt towards him and glanced at it.  
“Is that good?” asked Kip. Gaster nodded. “Do you want me to help you?” He shook his head. “Alright.”  
He went out and closed the door after him. He waited for a moment to hear the rustle of fabric before heading downstairs.

“Is he coming?” asked Dierk as Kip entered the sunroom. He placed the paper flower beside the apple and sat in his own chair before answering.  
“Yes.”  
Dierk gave him a skeptical look, and they both waited. Not long later they heard Gaster descending the stairs, and a moment later he appeared in the sunroom. His eyes were unfocused. He felt for the back of his chair and slid into it without focusing them and sat staring off into the sides of the room, neither of his eyes pointed at the table. Kip poured his coffee, hoping to attract his attention back to the table. Gaster looked down slowly, began to focus his eyes, registered that there was something on his plate and jumped.  
“Oh! Where’s—pretty! I mean where’d it come from, did you do this?”    
“Yes,” said Kip, smiling shyly. The apple was a bit saggy actually, golden apples weren’t the best for baking in that way, but it didn’t need to look perfect to be nutritious.  
“Oh my god it’s beautiful?? Where’d you get the apple?”  
“Bought it. Someone didn’t want it.” He couldn’t exactly tell Gaster about the true circumstances. “I hope it tastes okay. It’s a cobbled-together mess of things.”  
“No it looks great! Thank you!”  
Gaster touched the flower, then moved it away from his plate and cut into the apple. Kip picked up a roll, looking unhappily at the way the inside of the apple had turned to mush. The stuffing looked nice though. Gaster scooped up a forkful of apple and stuffing and put it in his mouth. His eyelights glowed a little brighter. He held it in his mouth for several seconds before chewing.  
“Is it good?” asked Kip, chewing a bite of roll. Gaster nodded and scooped out another piece of apple.  
He said nothing else until he had finished it, but his silent, rapt attention was praise enough. He’d done good. Kip ate another roll, wondering if Gaster would eat less today since he’d already had an apple and if there was a way to decorously inhale the rest of the rolls. He didn’t want to look like he was starving. But he was still gaining back the substantial amount of weight he’d lost over the previous months.  
“You made this?” asked Gaster quietly, around another mouthful of apple which he was slowly, reverently chewing. Kip nodded.  
“Fire magic is just better for food.”  
Gaster put another bite in his mouth and closed his eyes. After several seconds he sighed and chewed happily. Kip stretched out his hand when Gaster had opened his eyes, but Gaster shook his head and continued eating. Were his eyelights a little brighter?  
“No I’m good. Thank you. What were you before, a chef? Baker?”  
“Surprisingly, no, but that’s what I used to say when I was very young and people asked what I wanted to be when I grew up.” He was unusually talkative. Maybe he’d actually respond to questions. Rare at breakfast, and especially if they were personal questions. “What about you?”  
“Huh?”  
“What did you want to be?”  
“I... I’m not sure? I don’t think anyone ever asked me.” Kip cocked his head. “Uh, I think I wanted to be a veterinarian at one point.”  
“That’s a classic.”  
“And uhh I wanted to be a painter. For about..two hours. Then I realized I can’t art.”  
“It only took you two hours? Then you’re smarter than me.”  
“Heheh, no chalky sheep! Ah, there may have been some crayon sheep, not sure.”  
He'd remembered that. Huh. Not just the conversation about paintings but Kip’s specific wording. Kip himself had forgotten that until now.  
“Oh shoot,” hissed Gaster, scraping the bottom of his empty plate. “I was, I was going to give you some.”  
“No, I made it for you.”  
“But it was so good!”  
“Good. That’s what I’d hoped.”  
Gaster was practically quivering with uncharacteristic energy for the rest of the meal. His eyelights were definitely brighter, and when Kip finally did get around to warming his hands, only the tips of his fingers were cold, though the bones above the broken area were still very cool. So his magic was depleted. It made him wonder if he had a magic-generating disorder, but it should have been on his bio if he did—surely that would have been common knowledge. Maybe he was just bad at processing magic, especially when stressed; that made sense—and then there was the possibility that he was wasting it all on something else. Kip thought of the red glow he’d seen under Gaster’s door. Another unanswered question.  
Gaster stood to leave and paused, looking down at the flower. Then he picked it up and tucked it under the collar of his sweater.  

Kip went into his room and lay on his back on the bed. He felt an uncomfortable mix of jittery and tired. Maybe he was still recovering and hadn’t been ready for the magic transfer? He didn’t have the energy to think about it. The day had barely started and it was wearing him out. That worried him.  
He stared at the ceiling until it slowly turned black.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Rage is really useful for blocking out other emotions, for example, terror, disgust, depression... Yeah Kip is 100% dealing with this really well, everything is great, yay. 
> 
> OH!! More oneshot! This one written by FollowerofMercy. It's hella accurate and can be read as canon to the rest of the story. Probably happens somewhere in the course of this next chapter.  
> [Snowflower: Smells Like Insomnia](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12969270)


	10. Promises & Paper Flowers

“Did losing a half-hour of sleep mess you up that much?”

Kip awoke with a snort and a sudden awareness of Dierk standing in the doorway. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.    
“Is it lunchtime?”   
“Yes, and Gaster won’t wake up, again. Do your magic?”   
Kip got up silently and headed up to the study.

This time Gaster had fallen asleep at his desk, head lolled sideways between his arms. His hands rested on a clutter of papers. He was wearing oval glasses. The earpieces were attached to his earless skull with pieces of masking tape.   
“Gaster,” called Kip, touching his wrist. When that got no reaction he lifted his hand and tugged gently. Gaster shifted and raised his head a few inches.   
“Eurrgh.”   
“It’s lunchtime.”   
“Alreadyy?”   
Gaster started to sit up. His pelvis slipped off the front of the chair and he disappeared under the desk with a frantic scrabble which knocked a few papers off the desk to flutter slowly to the floor. He reappeared a moment later, considerably more awake.   
“Hi.”   
“Hello.” Kip tapped his own glasses. “You look nice.”   
“Oh. Thank you.” Gaster smiled and fiddled with the end of his sleeve. There was an uncomfortable silence as they stared at each other across the desk. “...Lunch?”   
On a whim, Kip smiled and held out his hand. Gaster looked at it for a moment, then ducked under the desk, came up next to him and took it. Kip dropped his hand without letting go and laced their fingers together. Gaster looked like his brain had blanked out, so Kip pulled him towards the door.   
“You might need to start taking naps during the day.”   
“I do, sometimes.”   
“I meant not on your desk. Lying down, comfortably.”   
“Oh. No, I’m fine.”   
“Did you not sleep well last night?”   
“Aah... no. Oh yeah, I woke you up.”   
“Were you smoking in my room?”   
“...Was I? I might have been? I was thinking about other things. Sorry.”   
“Don’t apologize, I don’t mind. It just startled me a bit.”   
“Mhm.”   
“While we’re on the subject of sleep, would you like me to keep waking you up, or would you prefer Dierk to do it?”   
“Uhh no I’d like you to do it. If you don’t mind.”   
“I’d love to.”   
Kip brushed his thumb over the skeletal knuckles. Gaster opened his mouth and then shut it without saying anything. 

Another five days passed. Kip woke Gaster in the mornings, after placing a new paper flower beside his plate, and walked down to breakfast with him. Once Gaster fell asleep while dressing and Kip buttoned his shirt, carried him downstairs and propped him in his chair.   
He'd started wearing his glasses to meals, and for the rest of the day, when Kip saw him, they were generally either pushed down over his nasal bone or hooked over his collar. Kip didn't remark on it, but was quite amused at the degree of self-consciousness it showed. He hadn't thought Gaster cared about his looks. Evidently he did, at least in some ways. And Kip was influencing his opinions: evidently he'd decided it was OK to wear glasses in public. 

Gaster would slowly wake up over the course of breakfast, then disappear into his study to do whatever it was that he did. Kip considered another sneak in to see whether his notes had changed substantially. He did wonder what Gaster was accomplishing, and whether he actually went there to nap. Or cry.

After lunch Gaster generally disappeared back into his study, but twice Kip convinced him to stay out long enough for a game of cards. The second time he fell asleep in his chair, where he continued to sleep for an hour, until Kip woke him. In the evenings they played chess (Gaster continued to lose, but was steadily improving) or, if Gaster didn’t feel up to it, watched Kip play piano.

Pink rose. Golden lotus. Light green carnation. White lily. Red daylily.   
Gaster had begun telling time in flowers. He knew they were from Kip, though he never managed to ask and Kip never commented on it, but every morning there was a new flower there beside his plate. The rose’s petals were blanched at the bottom, flushing to their brightest color at the outermost edges. Heat reaction, he’d decided after examining the petals in his study. Heat had a bleaching effect similar to light, both disrupted the chemical bonds in the dyes in the paper. The change in color was beautiful. He spent half an hour turning it over and over in his hands. This one was perfect, Kip couldn’t do better, he thought. The rest of the flowers proved him wrong.   
The lotus was singed brown at the tips of its petals, and the boxy pistil at the center had a dotted pattern across the top. The carnation’s edges were cut—burned, actually, which was even more impressive—in a delicate fringe. Gaster hadn’t known it was possible to control fire that precisely. The lily, a stylized twist of a calla lily, was breathaking in its minimalist beauty. The edges were seared a precise black, perfectly smooth, and there was a yellow spadix just visible from where it was glued inside. After the carnation he’d started using glue, though Gaster was at a loss as to where he’d gotten it from. Dierk? Being uncharacteristically helpful for once? The daylily’s bloom was tilted, opening at a slant, to look better lying down, and dark stripes of burnt color trailed down its throat. The petals were speckled as if from a shower of precisely controlled sparks that winked out as soon as the paper began to darken.   
He cleaned out a drawer of his desk and kept the flowers from previous days there. He always kept one on his desk, where he could look at it while he worked. It was almost alarming, the regularity at which they appeared. When was he making them?

Kip had plenty of time to make flowers. He had nothing else to do while Gaster was working but nap and think, or read. The books in the house—or, at least, the ones that had been left—were all very dull, neutral or human-fixated. He played solitaire once and decided he hated it. He wondered what Dierk got up to.   
Perhaps he practiced intimidating knife tricks in front of the mirror, intimidatingly.  
It was therapeutic to sculpt the little shapes with his hands and magic. A portion of his ‘training’ had been set up to alienate him from his own magic, presumably because the humans felt threatened by monster Companions who could use magic easily. Kip retained a clinging sense of wrongness, a bad taste in the back of his throat when he used his magic now. It was surprising to him to find that it all worked as it was supposed to. It didn’t feel like it should.   
So he slowly, carefully, used his fire to trim the edge of a carnation petal to a fringe, focusing on the ease and familiarity of it, shaking off the feeling.  

Yet another flower appeared, rose-shaped again but this time with stripes of variegated color, red and bleached tan. Gaster needed to do something.   
“Dierk,” he said. Dierk looked at him in surprise. As a rule, Gaster avoided speaking to him. “Do we have any alum?”   
“...Alum. Maybe. Why do you want it?”   
“Experiment.”   
Dierk gave him a funny look.   
“I’ll check and see.”   
“Please do, and tell me when you’ve looked.”   
Whew. He actually said words and didn’t mess it up. Nice. He sneaked a glance at Kip to see if he guessed what he was planning. He was hard to read, but he looked pretty blank. Maybe he didn’t know? Could Gaster actually surprise him with something? Good.

That evening, two-thirds of the way through a chess game which Gaster had initially done well in but was now steadily losing, he said “Hey... I just.. wanted to say something that... OK. Um. God I should have said this two weeks ago.”   
This would be important. He’d been doing the nervous tic he did when he was trying to work up to saying something for the entire game, rubbing the sleeve of his sweater between a thumb and forefinger.   
Kip gave him a brief, encouraging look before pretending to return most of his attention to the game. Didn’t want to give him stage fright.   
Gaster kept rubbing his sleeve, a little faster now, preoccupied.   
“Um. Listen. You don’t owe me anything.”   
Kip looked up at him.   
“I just... wanted to clear that up. You know? Because this... You’re not here for a happy reason, OK. You shouldn’t be here at all. This doesn’t make sense, and I don’t know what the organization told you your job was, but I won’t hold you to it, because it’s not fair.”   
Kip tilted his head sideways.   
Ha. Gaster was having scruples. Cute, especially in a monster who was helping mastermind the destruction of his entire race. (Maybe. He reminded himself to keep open the possibility that Gaster was still on their side... somehow.)   
“I’m not making sense,” muttered Gaster, rubbing his face in his hands; “OK. The contract basically says I own you. I don’t own you. People can’t own each other, it’s one of the basic facts of reality.”   
“Then don’t say it like that. We belong to each other.”   
“Alright, that, that sounds better, yeah. But then why are you the one with the tattoo?”   
“I’m your Companion.”   
“And that doesn’t bother you, at all?”   
Kip shook his head slowly.   
“Should it?”   
“...... no. I mean. I guess this is good, this is a good thing, that you’re not upset. Um.”   
Kip was beginning to look concerned.   
“Are you going to send me away?”   
“No! Can I even do that? What would happen to you?”   
“I don’t know.”   
“Alright, no, I wasn’t even thinking about that don’t worry—actually I don’t know if they’d let me. Anyway I wouldn’t do that to you, it’d just throw you back into the system... I can’t change anything.” He buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I just... thought I could make things better. Haha.”   
Externally, Kip was concerned. Internally he was laughing maniacally. _Guilt_. _So much_ guilt. It made him giddy. Guilt was an excellent motivator, and Gaster was at least half infatuated with him already. It wouldn’t be hard to make him hate himself. God he’d love to see that.   
(...Why was he so incredibly happy about this? When exactly did he become such a cruel person?)  
Alright, but it would be nice to feel like he could control Gaster reliably, and this seemed like the best way at the moment.   
He decided to twist the knife a little.   
“Hey. Hey.” He reached across the board and took Gaster’s hands in his, gently pulling them away from his face. His eyes were damp. “It’s OK, Gaster. Don’t think about it too much.”   
“Yeah.” he nodded. Kip pulled his hands closer and kissed his knuckles.   
“I love you,” he said.   
If he’d used a physical knife Gaster’s reaction might have been the same. He gave him a long betrayed look before saying “Don’t say that.”   
“...Why?”   
“I...You don’t have to.” Kip continued to look at him blankly. “And I’ll want to believe you.”   
“If it’s true...”   
“Don’t say it.”   
“Alright.” Kip smiled. “I would die for you.”   
“Um. What?”   
“It’s in the contract you keep mentioning, actually. But I’d rather not think about that. It’s my mission to keep you safe, because I l—because I’m your Companion. And I will.” his smile broadened. “I would love to die for you.”   
Gaster gaped at him for several seconds, his hands limp in Kip’s. Then he recovered and squeezed Kip’s hands.   
“You’re...you’re not going to. It’s OK, I’ll take care of you. I promise.”   
Kip nodded brightly, inwardly wondering if that was too much. Making Gaster feel overprotective could also have complications. Damn, he was hard to predict.   
...Actually, he’d been fairly consistent, so far. Kip just had trouble believing in his act. But he needed to get over that if it was throwing him off.   
Alright. Anxious, eager to please, sad scientist with no friends. Kip was starting to lean towards the theory that Gaster was a simple coward who’d been scared into cooperating with the humans by direct threats against his physical wellbeing. (Dierk was a prime, though not exactly subtle, example of the Republic’s fondness for appeals to the stick as a compelling rhetorical device. Dierk, by the way, had offered no further explanation for his earlier threats, and Kip was inclined to read it as a display of pent-up resentment packaged as an incentive to Kip to hurry up and make himself useful.) In that case Kip’s mission would probably be to kill him. If he’d snapped once, even if he hadn’t revealed everything at the time, he would later. And anyway, he’d already done enough damage. He should be killed for betraying the trust of his King and his people.   
Also Kip just really wanted to kill someone, Kip admitted. That’s why he was there. That’s why he had put up with three months of abuse and brainwashing. Just to get here, look this filthy traitor in the eyes and then break him.

Alright. At the moment, his mission was to befriend Gaster. Make him feel comfortable. Learn his weaknesses. How he used those weaknesses would be decided later, when he knew more.

“I know,” he said, and pressed Gaster’s hands to his face before releasing them. His magic pulse had become tangible through the bones of his hands, signaling the skeleton equivalent of a racing heart. Good.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: oh hekk that last chapter was so bad someone un-bookmarked this fic haha..ha. Yeah that was pretty disturbing man but I mean the rest of the fic isn’t all flowers and puppies either. ...It was pretty disturbing. ... I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t actually severely traumatize anyone. Discussion below.
> 
> Heads up, I sometimes add a tag for a theme at the same time as updating a chapter, if it’s something small/spoilery/which I wasn’t sure I was going to add before when I was writing the initial round of tags. So if you’re easily upset by things (and this is an M rated fic!! Just to be safe!! Because I am going to do things like this occasionally!!) then it might be good to glance at the tags before reading a new chapter and see if something new has appeared and what it is. (Additionally, if you’re an unflappable person whose only bane is spoilers, do not do this, do the opposite of this.) ..Should I put warnings at the start of chapters with unexpected possibly upsetting stuff that wasn’t initially tagged on the fic overall? I didn’t feel it was needed here but maybe it was idk, opinions?
> 
> Anyway. Little inside joke which went right over Gaster’s head because he’s Gaster.
> 
> Green carnations are a symbol of homosexuality. Round of applause for Kip.


	11. Physicality

Dierk knocked and then walked right in.  
“Day off. You know the drill.”  
“Nngh,” agreed Kip, blinking sleepily at him (in reality, he had been lying awake for half an hour.)  
“Breakfast is ready, wake the skeleton.”

The skeleton gradually removed himself from the bed in stages while Kip picked out an outfit for him. First he pulled the covers off his shoulders. Then he curled his body up so he was surrounded but not covered by the covers. Then he scooted to the edge of the bed. Then he shifted to a crouching position, from which he lay back down again, groaning sleepily. Kip gently pulled him back up and put his shirt in his lap.  
“See you outside.”  
“Thh.” Gaster yawned. “Thanks.”  
“I get to go out again today.”  
“Oh, OK.”  
Kip walked out and closed the door, but didn’t step away from it because Gaster was saying something.  
“Kip?”  
“Yes?”  
“What do you do?”  
“Oh. Walk around, enjoy the sunshine,” said Kip cheerfully. “Look at the—”  
“Kip?”  
“—City?”  
“Do you talk to someone?”  
“...I... don’t really talk to people that much, no—”  
“No I mean, is there someone from the organization that you meet?”  
...Oh.  
Congratulations, Gaster, on not actually being stupid.  
...Well fuck. Fuck? _Fuuuuck_. OK, how to play this? Gaster was pretty certain already or he probably wouldn’t have brought it up, knowing Gaster. Kip could lie but, paradoxically, telling the truth would probably make Gaster trust him more. Gaster seemed to view him as a victim. If Kip showed that his loyalties were shifting from Snowflower to Gaster himself (presumably as an unintended effect of Snowflower conditioning, but whatever) he’d probably believe it.  
The split-second of analyzing left Kip mentally reeling, with a pleasant spike of adrenaline, and he chose his words carefully.  
“I... might... yes. How did you know?”  
“Just a guess,” said Gaster darkly, and he heard him dressing.  
“We don’t talk about you—much—well... all good things,” said Kip, with an uncomfortable laugh.  
“Thank you,” said Gaster. A moment the later the door opened, and he stood holding it, looking up at him. “...You’re going to tell them I said that, aren’t you?”  
Ah good. Show the conflicting loyalties.  
“I... should...”  
“Well don’t let it bother you,” said Gaster, letting the door go. Kip stepped to the side for him and they walked to the stairs.  
“Don’t...?”  
“I mean, just do what you think you should. That’s all anyone can do. That’s hard enough,” he muttered, staring at the carpet through his phalanges.  
He stopped.  
“...I’m not wearing shoes again am I.”  
“...You are not.”  
“Huh. Excuse me.” Gaster went back into his room and returned shortly after, wearing shoes.

This time the meeting was different. The Grandfather stared beadily at Kip while he gave his report, then said “Hm” and sat tapping his fingers on the tabletop. Kip waited, on edge.  
“Very shy,” Said the Grandfather after a moment. Kip nodded, smiling.  
“He is, sir.”  
“Have you considered there is something you’re doing wrong?”  
“I... yes. But I don’t think..”  
“Do you talk to him? I think you might be too quiet. It’s charming enough in moderation, but it can make you seem distant, and we wouldn’t want that.”  
“No! I do talk to him.”  
The beady glance fastened upon him and the Grandfather gave an unimpressed “Good.”  
“I’ll try harder.”  
“Good, good.”  
The Grandfather sipped his coffee and Kip lifted his own cup.  
“You’ve put on weight, haven’t you?” he said, and Kip looked over the top of his cup in surprise.  
“..um.”  
“Nothing to be ashamed of, especially these days.” He patted his own stomach with a chuckle. Kip wondered why he had to imply that it _might_ be something to be ashamed of.  “But boys usually prefer a slimmer build, at least among humans, I believe. Though there’s no accounting for personal taste. Has Gaster said anything?”  
“I am not sure he’s noticed, sir, he’s a skeleton.”  
“Quite right. Well, good to see you healthy, but don’t enjoy your food too much.”  
“Yes sir.”  
The Grandfather winked and ate another cookie.

 _Had he just been threatened_  
For being a _reasonable weight?_

Kip had always been fairly trim, despite his preference for naps over physical exertion. He’d visibly lost weight over the past three months, much of it muscle mass, from a combination of little and poor food and constant stress. He’d been glad to feel that he was slowly returning to normal. For some reason it hadn’t really occurred to him that he would be expected to _stay_ underweight. Especially since Gaster, the only person (supposedly) who did have the right to micromanage his weight if he so desired, was a _skeleton. Who had no flesh_.  
Well. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have opinions on it.  
And, moving on from Gaster himself, it seemed Snowflower was getting impatient. They’d wasted three months working with monsters they’d much rather have exterminated on sight to get him to Gaster so he could earn his trust and be their informant. And Gaster, so it seemed, wasn’t taking the bait. Kip understood the indignation. He felt a little of it himself. ...Maybe more than a little. This was also why he was here. Anyway, nothing any of them could do but wait.  
...He thought. But, now that he really thought about it, would the humans have kept only one of the monster Companions they’d spent so much time on alive? It made sense they’d have at least one backup, in case he failed. Perhaps Kip’s group hadn’t even been the only one—it could be one of the monsters he’d known, or someone else entirely. In any case, if it seemed this approach wasn’t going to work in general, then they would get rid of him, and/or whomever else they were keeping in reserve. No reason to keep live monsters around, even tamed, supposedly docile ones. Snowflower, and ultimately human intelligence, was only risking failure; Kip was risking his life. It didn’t bother him as much as it might have bothered another monster, but he resented the feeling; and more, hated to think that he’d come this far only to fail at his mission.  
Alright. Time to be a little more aggressive. Passive-aggressive, anyway, because he was a Companion, he wasn’t supposed to be assertive, even if Gaster utterly failed to be. But he knew Gaster liked him. He just needed proof. He wasn’t going to lie to Snowflower—not yet, not about something so basic, especially not with Dierk in the house and probably filing his own reports.  
But he had excluded the detail of Gaster’s suspicions, which would count for him, once he brought it up with Gaster.

Kip had lost the inner calm he’d maintained on the trip over. He didn’t let it show until he was leaving, then, letting himself relax a little, adopted a pensive look, eyes low. So he almost didn’t see the curly-haired kid on the opposite side of the street. When he did glimpse him over the top of the car as he was getting in Sans was giving him a panicked look. Kip tried to shoot him a reassuring smile. Great. Now Sans was worried about him. Well, more than usual. Why on earth did Sans have to get himself involved in this?

He was still fuming internally as he returned to the house. Walking into his room, he stopped, hands raised in the act of throwing off his coat.  
Gaster was asleep on his carpet.  
He was curled up on the rectangular rug beside his bed, mouth half-open, breathing raspily through his teeth. Kip cleared his throat. Nothing happened. Well what did he expect, it was Gaster.  
Gently he rolled the skeleton into his arms and lifted him. Gaster woke with a twitch as he was standing up.  
“Hello,” said Kip.  
“Oh geez,” said Gaster, then sneezed. “Oh hey. Uh I missed you so I was in your room missing you and then I fell asleep I’m sorry I didn’t touch anything. Um. I mean, except the door, and the carpet, obviously.”  
“...I was gone for two hours. You never pay attention to me before lunch anyway.”  
“Yeah but I know you’re in the house.”  
“You are an odd person,” said Kip, rubbing his forehead against Gaster’s. “I’m pleased that you missed me.”  
“Yeah. Uh, you can put me down.”  
“Here?”  
“Sure.”  
Kip lay Gaster down on his bed and sat next to him, one arm on Gaster’s other side.  
“...Oh,” said Gaster. “Um.”  
Kip cocked his head. Was he going to say ‘that wasn’t exactly what I meant?’ No...? Nope. He wasn’t. He was just lying there, staring up at him, breathing a little quicker than usual. Kip wasn’t confident in his ability to interpret skeletal body language yet but he figured that was a good indication across the board of—something, anyway. He stared back. The moment stretched on for several seconds, then Gaster started to say something, then stopped, as Kip was already speaking.  
“Can I kiss you?”  
“Yngh.” Gaster stalled for a moment. “...Why?”  
“Why not?”  
“I’d rather you didn’t actually.”  
“Oh.” Kip did a bad job of not looking hurt and a bit nervous. “Alright.” He leaned back and Gaster scrambled up into a sitting position, facing him.  
“Um.” He bounced. “Heh, I like your bed more than mine.”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah it’s less soft.”  
“Oh. Is that good?”  
“Yeah! Well I think so anyway. Maybe we should switch.”  
“Or you could move down here.”    
Gaster looked away.  
Kip waited for a few moments for him to look back, then shifted his position to face the door and exhaled a sigh.  
“There’s no reason for me to be here,” he muttered. Gaster looked over.  
“What?”  
“There’s no reason to be here.” Gaster looked blank so he clarified, “If you don’t want me.”  
“Uh, no? No I really like you! I just, uh, don’t, like? I don’t uh.”  
“It’s alright,” said Kip. “It’s fine. They’ll find someone else.”  
Gaster went silent.  
Kip got up and walked to the door. Gaster found his voice while he was on his way out.  
“KIPNO!” it was all one shout, which he ignored and went out into the garden. He walked to the fountain and stopped beside it, looking out into the garden, a cold, drab, slushy mess in the morning light. Ribs of hard, caked snow crisscrossed the ground under the naked shrubs. He was bitterly proud. He'd never heard Gaster shout before, that was a start.  
Behind him the door slammed, then there were rapid footsteps through the snow, ending with a slushy sound and a quiet thud. He turned. Gaster had slipped off the path into a patch of hard, muddy snow and hadn’t gotten up. He was on his hands and knees, crying.  
...This was going even better than Kip had expected.  
He didn’t have any use for compassion at the moment, but seeing Gaster on his knees took the edge from his anger. He walked to him, pulled him up and brushed the snow and dirt off.  
“Where’s your coat?”  
Gaster clung to him, mumbling something unintelligible, and Kip pulled him closer and wrapped the front flaps of his coat around him. Gaster nuzzled into his neck.  
“I love you,” he said. “Ilove you.” He might have said it a third time but it was turning into choking sobs. Kip slowly stroked the back of his skull as he recovered.  
“Shh. I thought that word was banned.”  
“Uh-h. It. It’s banned for you, I can use it.”  
“Mh.”  
Gaster hid his face in the front of Kip’s shirt, arms locked around him under the coat.  
“What did they do to you?” he whined, and began sobbing again, soundlessly. Kip rested his cheek on the top of Gaster’s skull and made soothing noises. “I hate this,” he creaked. “You shouldn’t be this, you shouldn’t have to feel like this. I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be here.”  
“...I know.”  
“No, not like that! I like you, OK!” Gaster gave him an exasperated shake, or tried to. He wasn’t heavy enough to do more than lightly sway Kip, he ended up shaking himself more. “I just. I just wish we could have met before this. You know, the.. war.” He let his forehead rest on Kip’s shoulder. “I wish I didn’t screw everything up so badly. You shouldn’t be here. Because I don’t deserve you, OK, not the other way around.”  
“...Why would you say that?”  
“OK listen, why would you want to kiss me? I—? It doesn’t make sense.”  
“Yes it does.”  
“Yeah? Explain why.”  
“...I like you. I think you’re cute.”  
Gaster choked, then laughed.  
“You, uh. No. I don’t, uh. Um. I’ve, ah. I’ve never been called cute before? Ever? I’ve been called things like ‘retard’ and ‘please stop talking’.”  
“...Then you’ve had terrible friends.”  
“Huh. Mostly nonexistent. Uh, no. No that’s not true. I mean. I guess I’ve had some pretty good friends, but uh, none of them stuck around.”  
“I know what you mean.”  
Kip flipped up his collar to shield both of them from the wind and began buttoning his coat over Gaster, which meant pulling him closer at the waist. Gaster obligingly pressed closer against him.  
“Huh. So, uh. What’s your story. I don’t. Think I’ve, uh, heard.”  
“...My story. I don’t... really have a story.”  
“Everyone has a story.”  
“Tell me yours? I’ll tell you mine.”  
“Uhh, alright. I, uh, was left in a sweater box near the front door of an orphanage sometime in winter I’m not sure the exact date anymore actually. Winter birthdays or... arrivals were all just celebrated together at Christmas, so. I kind of forgot what the date was. Um. I was good at science? That’s, that’s a thing I can do. So eventually people noticed and sent me to school. Since then to now it’s basically just been me being good at science. And kind of bad at everything else. Oh, I was Royal Scientist for a couple years, before the uh, the stuff happened. And. Yeah. The war. I... Kind of hoped someone would try to contact me after that, since my picture was in all the papers and... stuff. But I mean if they had wanted to be able to find me they wouldn’t have left me outside and run away like that so I guess it makes sense. I just... I dunno, it was a weird hope, you know how you sometimes get? Like you know, you know it’s not going to happen, but then when it doesn’t happen it crushes you. That’s stupid. I hate it.” He took a shaky breath. “Your turn.”  
“...” Kip tightened his arms comfortingly around Gaster. “I.. really don’t have much of a story. Born to a middle-class family not far from here. Bit bookish, but too lazy to apply myself to anything in particular. I had a few different jobs, never really stuck with anything. I had a few special friends but none of them... stayed. You know.”  
“Y-yeah. Sorry.”  
“It’s OK. What else... I had a sister. Younger, beautiful, loved to play the piano. ...She also severely injured me when we were kids by tossing a cat directly at my face, but I forgive her.”  
“What happened to her...?”  
“I’m not sure. I... lost track of her, when all this started.”  
Gaster said nothing for several moments, then said “oh” in a small voice and made a sort of patting-stroking motion on Kip’s back with one hand.  
“I’m sorry I got upset,” said Kip after a few more moments.  
“No, it’s fine, I should have been taking better care of you.”  
“That’s my job.”  
“No, actually, it’s not, literally no one in the history of.. history, has ever taken care of me before and I’ve been fine and—well it’s not worth the stress, I’ll be fine. And I just want you to be OK. Sometimes I don’t make a lot of sense, OK, just, uh. Just accept it and don’t let it bother you.”  
“...” Kip tried to process this. “..Alright...”  
Gaster sighed. He’d relaxed his body into Kip’s. Kip was pretty sure he could feel individual ribs boring into his side when Gaster breathed.  
Gaster said nothing for a few moments, attempting to distribute his weight more comfortably and poking Kip with a lot of boney angles, finally tucking his head under Kip’s chin and resting his cheek against his shirt. He smelled distinctly of smoker skeleton. Kip hadn’t realized that was a smell, but it was.  
“Kip,” he said after several moments had passed. “I’m never sending you away. OK?”  
“..You should. If you think it’d be better for us.”  
“Do you want to go?”  
“....No.”  
“What happens if you go?”  
“I... might be reassigned....”  
“Might?”  
“...”  
“You’re a monster, they don’t generally... _have_ monster Companions, generally, right?”  
“....”  
“I’m not trying to scare you OK, I’m just. Thinking out loud, I wanna figure this out.” He tightened his thin arms around Kip’s ribs. “Don’t worry. I want you to stay here and I’m gonna take of you.”  
“..They think I’ve failed you.”  
“...Huh.” Gaster huffed, and bent his head, pressing the top of it to Kip’s shirt. “I, uh. OK. Listen. You’re not, you’re really not. I just. God I’m sorry, I can’t talk right now.”  
“It’s OK.”  
“But you’re fine, I like you and also I love you and I want you to stay, and you haven’t failed. And you can kiss me if you want to, I just. I was just. Skeptical, of whether that was actually something you wanted to do or you just felt like you should ask in case I wasn’t going to ask but wanted you to—dammit that’s confusing.”  
“I can—”  
“Y-yeah.”  
Kip gave a faint, joyful laugh and pressed their foreheads together.  
“I’ll be good,” he said.  
“I know! I know you will, I trust you.”  
Kip cupped Gaster’s face in his hands and ran a thumb across his mouth. The hard membrane was smooth, but not utterly so; more like paper or eggshells than polished stone, and felt cool to the touch. His hands must feel very warm to Gaster.  
Do skeletons kiss? Is that not a thing for them? Considering the lack of lips, they probably had other ways of showing affection. Anyway, Kip didn’t know what those were at the moment, and one half of them did have lips. This would work.  
Gaster _did_ have a tongue, or at least he was assuming that he did, based on the fact that Sans and Papyrus did. The black tongues attached to the weird ectoplasmic insides of their skulls were apparently the single skeletal organ besides the soul. Skeletons were bizarre, but when you got down to it, not much different from other beings in general responses: he told himself this, and hoped it was true.  
Kip tilted his head and leaned in, pressed his lips to Gaster’s mouth, then waited, lips just brushing his chin, for him to make some motion. He’d almost decided the encounter was over when Gaster hesitantly nuzzled him back. He kissed him again, lightly, and Gaster reciprocated with a gentle nip. They kept on like that for a short while, then both paused, as if coming to an unspoken agreement, and Gaster ducked his head out of reach and nestled against Kip’s chest. Kip sighed happily.  
“Ready to go in?” he asked. The cold had sunk through his clothes, Gaster was probably feeling it too. Gaster nodded silently. Kip unbuttoned him from his coat and they started back to the house together. Gaster looked dazed.  
“Kip?”  
“Yes?”  
“Did you tell them?”  
“That you knew?— No.”  
Gaster seized his hand.  
“Thank you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Kip makes 13 specific statements in his ‘story of my life’ schtick. 5 of them are true and the rest are BUUUULLSHIIIIIIIITTT
> 
> Have fun
> 
> Also if this ending does not give you BAD AND WRONG vibes then plz tell me because I’m doing something wrong  
> ...same goes for the entire rest of the work basically?  
> I like being told when things go right, too, actually. By all means tell me if I wrote effective horror.
> 
> Oh another thing! Thanks to the anonymous Robotic Waffle of FFN, your reviews crack me up and thank you for leaving them :D also, you are the first person to leave reviews on the FFN copy of this fic. Interesting. In general, I get more reviews for genfic (especially CORE) from FFN, and more reviews for darker, more mature or more experimental pieces from AO3. You could do a fun little psychology study on that.  
> Part of the study would mention that people are actually reading this on FFN. I can see your views, people. Just can’t see who you are, whether or not you actually like this or why you keep coming back.  
> :) i see u


	12. Marigold

Gaster was jitterier than usual for the rest of the day, and in the evening instead of chess Kip played the piano for him. Gaster started out sitting on the couch, then moved to a chair that was a bit closer. The next time Kip looked up he was standing beside the piano. By the time he stopped playing Gaster was sitting on the very edge of the piano bench, facing in the opposite direction, sometimes turning to look at him.   
He ended the piece, rested his hands gently on the keys, then folded them in his lap and looked at Gaster, who immediately averted his eyes. Then looked back. Kip smiled faintly.

They paused outside Gaster’s door and Gaster looked at Kip’s feet.   
“Um. Goodnight.” He looked back up, smiling that weird toothy smile. Kip wondered if he should kiss him goodnight. He leaned a little closer. Gaster’s expression changed, but he couldn’t read it. He hadn’t moved away. Well, he’d hedge his bets. Kip aimed for his cheek.   
Gaster stuck out his tongue.   
...Kip froze. There were a few awkward seconds while Gaster stared to either side of Kip and Kip stared at the tongue. That was... not normal. He was pretty sure skeleton tongues were supposed to be black like the cranial ectoplasm. Single-tone black. Not with bright purple spots. Was it diseased? Was there a skeleton bright-purple-tongue-spots disease? How transmissible was it and was Kip going to die in an especially painful and demeaning way?   
Gaster sucked in his tongue.   
“Sthorryy.”   
“...Was that enthusiasm, or...?”   
“No no I ah. Sorry. I just. Stick out my tongue sometimes when I get uncomfortable or confused.”   
“Oh. I’m sorry I—”   
“No no no it’s fine I just—agh that was weird sorry.”   
“Has it--?”   
“Mm?”   
It probably wasn’t polite to ask but dammit Kip wanted to know how he was going to die.   
“Has it always been like that?”   
“...What?”   
“Your tongue. It’s got spots on it.”   
Gaster’s face lit up.   
“Oh yeth!” He pulled his tongue a startlingly far distance out of his mouth with his fingers and squinted at it before retracting it and wiping his fingers on his pants. “Yes, as far as I can tell it’s a color mutation where some spots don’t have as much pigment so the underlying color shows through, which in my case is a kind of purplish? There have been a few cases among skeletons, I think; we’re not a very well documented species, but other monsters and humans can have unevenly colored patches on an otherwise solid area of skin or fur, oh and cats! My old cat had black spots on her pink tongue, it was so nice, I felt like we matched. So anyway what I’m saying is uneven pigmentation is fairly well documented in other species and I’m guessing that this is along the same lines.” Kip nodded. Oh good. He wouldn’t catch some sort of magical purple spot disease. He felt silly.   
“It’s kind of cute.”   
“Heheh.. thanks, yeah, I like it. I-I mean, it’s weird like the rest of me but it’s kind of distinctive, you know?” Kip nodded. “Were you... going to kiss me?” Kip nodded again, hesitantly.   
“Just for goodnight.”   
“OK,” said Gaster. Kip hesitated a moment and Gaster, evidently trying to avoid another awkward pause, stretched up and kissed him on the mouth, or rather nuzzled him. Kip kissed back, and instead of moving away Gaster came closer, maintaining the contact, and slowly lifted one hand to stroke his cheek.   
Mh. He either hadn’t quite grasped the concept of a _quick_ goodnight kiss or he was going for something else. Kip wondered where he’d be sleeping.   
He ran his tongue across Gaster’s teeth. They were every bit as sharp as they looked.   
Gaster’s hand stiffened on his cheek. Kip pulled back. Gaster’s eyes had completely unfocused.   
“Um.”   
“Alright?” said Kip. Gaster laughed and nuzzled their foreheads together.   
“Yeah. Thank you.”   
...  
He’d rather he had done anything else. Literally anything else. He could have bitten through Kip’s tongue if he didn’t approve of his taking initiative, Kip would have accepted it just fine, but this innocent touch made him almost uncomfortable. Ghost images of memories flickered at the edge of his consciousness.   
He gave Gaster a final nuzzle and stepped back.   
“Goodnight.”   
“G’night.” Gaster smiled, clawed at the door, and sort of fell over backwards and let it drag him into his room, then swung it closed behind him.

Kip walked into his room and froze. A curly-haired form was silhouetted against the opposite window. Sans raised his fingers and rapped lightly on the glass.   
Kip glanced into the hallway to be sure it was empty and gestured towards the garden door. He could pry one of the windows up if he needed to, but it would be loud and would disturb the paint.   
Stepping quietly, barely breathing, he went to the door and turned the doorknob with steady, gentle pressure, opening the door with barely a click. Sans squeezed inside and Kip shut the door, tucked Sans under his arm and zipped back into his room.   
He shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Sans was a large, but lightweight bulk of squishy fabric under his arm. He walked around the bed and set Sans down on the floor, then sat next to him. If anyone came in they wouldn’t immediately see Sans, since his head was lower than the bed.   
“Are you OK?” Kip whispered.   
“Fine! – Wait, not ‘what am I doing here’?”   
“I scared you. Accident. I’m alright.”   
“Yeah, you did. Are you sure?”   
Kip nodded.   
“Snowflower’s started to give me pressure. It’s been implied that I’m not doing my job correctly. I was a bit pissed about that. I’m fine.” Sans worked off a glove and put a cold hand on his. The human glamour flickered as his phalanges made contact with Kip’s flames.   
“You’ll be fine.”   
“How do you know?”   
“Because I know you. I mean, I haven’t seen much of what’s actually happening.. Kind of relieved about that actually; but I know you, and I know you can do whatever you need to. You always do. You’re pretty cool like that. Or should I say hot.”   
“I. ...You haven’t missed much. He’s a shy nerd who doesn’t know how to have a relationship, so I’ve just sort of been holding his hand and acting nice. He definitely likes me, so that’s a start.”   
“Oh good. See I didn’t know anything about what he’d be like I was so scared he’d be absolutely terrible to you.”   
“Well I mean he taxes my patience but it’s not because he’s outright mean. Not to me anyway. ...not yet.”   
“Good. Good start. So you think he’s on our side? Can you tell yet?”   
“He’s not.”   
“He’s not, are you sure?”   
...That’s right. That was why they’d bothered to send him. Gaster was an unsolved enigma. There was a chance that for whatever reasons of his own he hadn’t yet give everything to the humans. Kip had favored the theory that he had, but the humans were holding back on utilizing his technology or hadn’t figured out how to yet; but he didn’t know that.   
What a pestiferous mysterious person. Kip needed to know exactly what he had and hadn’t told and why before he could act.    
“I’m not certain, no. But I went through his papers and he’s working on monster-specific chemical weapons.”   
Sans turned sideways.   
“He _what now_.”   
“From what I saw they’d hit a wall, but they’ve definitely been discussing it. And some of the humans are probably working on it. I’m sure someone is at least testing his theories, he doesn’t have a lab here.”   
“God. OK, I’ll pass that along.”   
“Good.”   
“Do you know anything else?”   
“From what I saw, the humans had discussed something called G-S-949. He said it wouldn’t be feasible and suggested other chemical weapons.”   
“Like?”   
“I don’t know, I’m not a chemist. There were a lot of chemistry notes lying though.”   
Sans growled.   
“Great. So, not looking great for him. Unless he’s bluffing? I mean, is he actually giving them ideas that work?”   
“....Not that I can tell. I didn’t even see a reference to specific targeted chemical weapons, he just mentioned the possibility.”   
“Right, well, that’s scary enough.”   
Kip nodded.   
“Now how can you get out of here?” he hoped Sans didn’t expect Kip to shotput him over the wall. That would... involve a lot of danger. For both of them. Especially if he happened to throw Sans directly into something hard.   
“I can teleport.”   
“Are you sure?”   
Sans’ skill had gotten them out of several sticky situations, but it was draining and he didn’t have an especially large magic store to exhaust. Complicated magic use exhausted him quickly, and this was about as complicated as it got. And Kip was sure he’d been eating human food, as Kip himself had been. That didn’t help.   
“Yeah. It’ll knock me out for a couple hours but I’ll be fine. I have a nice little hideout not far from here.”   
“Would it help if you slept first?”   
“Here?”   
“Yes.”   
“Yeah. No one comes in here?”   
“They might, but I doubt they’d rummage in my closet. You could get a few hours of sleep and go back in the middle of the night when there’s not likely to be anyone around.”   
“That’s a good idea if you think it’s safe. Heh, I haven’t been indoors much lately, it’s nice.”   
Kip squeezed his shoulder. Rather, he squeezed the outside of his disguise. He hoped Sans could feel the pressure through all the layers he was wearing.   
“You make a decent human,” he commented, poking his side.   
“Ew,” said Sans. “How could you say something so disgusting. Our friendship will never be the same.”   
“Pffh.”   
Sans looked at him.   
“And you’re sure you’re fine? You look different.”   
“Different how?”   
“More tired.”   
“Mh. I’ve been getting enough sleep.” More than enough sleep actually. He’d been sleeping a lot.   
“OK. Take care of yourself.”   
“You too, kiddo.”   
...Kiddo? Where did that come from?

He helped Sans settle down in the bottom of his closet, head resting on Kip’s shoes, huddled under Kip’s coat like a blanket, then shut the door carefully and climbed into bed.

In the morning Sans was gone. The coat was still lying on the floor, he wasn’t tall enough to get it back on the hanger.   
Kip hadn’t said thank you. He hadn’t wanted Sans to involve himself, but now that he had, Kip had to admit he was a great source of comfort. Even if he never did anything to help him directly, it was good to know he was out there.

That morning the flower was a marigold, bright orange petals bleached to gold at the edges. Gaster picked it up and smiled.   
“It looks like you.”

They had discussed starting a chess game after lunch. Instead Kip went back to his room, took his shirt off and pretended to fall asleep. Gaster showed up looking for him a bit later. Kip almost didn’t hear him come in, but his light footsteps made little clicks on the hardwood in between the carpet. Then he could smell the smoky smell that clung to his clothes.   
Kip had no objection to smoking but he wished Gaster would wash the sweater one of these days, it was turning into stale smoke potpourri. And Gaster’s cheap cigarettes didn’t smell especially fragrant even fresh.   
Gaster stood there silently for a few moments, then Kip felt a light touch on his upper arm, so brief that if he hadn’t recognized the feel of bone he might have thought it had been an accidental flick with his sleeve. Quiet movement. Then Gaster gingerly draped Kip’s shirt over his shoulders and arranged it around him.   
...OK. Not exactly what he had expected.   
Gaster paused, then pulled up the collar of his shirt to cover the tattoo at the base of his neck. A moment later Kip heard the door swing shut.   
Huh. He’d read that last bit as evidence that the guilt trip was working.

Gaster was strangely subdued for the later part of that day. They ended a chess game early because he was falling asleep in his chair, and he was especially hard to wake up the next morning. Kip wondered if he was suffering a nervous collapse after too much emotional stress. Oh well, he’d recover.   
He sat for several minutes after breakfast resting his head in Kip’s hands, while Kip traced the outside of one eyesocket. He was mostly silent at lunch, and at one point Kip was afraid he’d doze off and slump into his food, but he didn’t. The most surprising event came some time after lunch.

Kip had been spending the afternoon in the living room, he’d dragged the sofa into the sun and was dozing there with a book he’d lost interest in on his chest when he heard Gaster call his name from the hallway. He got up and went to the door just in time to see Gaster fall down the stairs. Kip ran to him. He’d stopped about halfway down.  
“I’m OK,” he said, shakily raising himself up on his arms. Kip pulled him up and supported him.   
“What happened?”   
“Uh... Uhh? Gravity.”   
“...”   
“I was going to ask you to warm me up but I’m OK now.”   
“You never ask me for anything...”   
“I-I know, sorry, I just, I thought you wouldn’t mind—”   
“I don’t, I’m just surprised.” Kip touched his lips to the side of Gaster’s skull. His magic was especially pronounced, fried and feverish. “You’re sick.”   
“What? Oh. That makes sense, how can you tell?”   
“Your magic feels weird.”   
“O-oh. Didn’t, uh. Know you could tell.” He shivered. Kip pulled him closer.   
“Do you want to lie down?”   
“Nno I uh. I still have stuff to do.”   
“You’re sick.”   
“I’m not going outdoors. You’re just supposed to stay inside when you’re sick, right?”   
Kip sighed.   
“At least take a break?”   
“...Yeah. I wasn’t getting anything done anyway.”

Kip sat him on the couch and replaced the book on the shelf. When he turned around Gaster was sitting with his eyes closed and head tilted back.   
“...Here.” Kip nudged him to lay down across the couch and put a pillow under his head. He turned onto his side, pulling his arms close to his chest. “Comfortable?”   
“Mmmhm.”   
“I’ll go get a blanket.”

He checked the shelves in Gaster’s closet for a spare blanket, in case there was one. There wasn’t. He took the quilt off his own bed and brought it back. Gaster was asleep, but woke when Kip tucked the blanket around him.   
“Still cold?”   
“Mm.”   
“I’ll warm you up.”   
Kip took off his shoes, vest, tie and glasses and squeezed in next to Gaster, who arched his back against the pleasant warmth and was asleep again within moments.   
Kip carefully adjusted their position so he wouldn’t roll off and fell into a light snooze himself. When he woke the warmth of the sun had faded and the light in the room had a hazy quality. He snuggled closer to Gaster and pulled the quilt in around them both. Gaster mumbled something. Kip stilled, listening. Gaster’s hands twitched. He sighed, then said, very distinctly,   
“Tomatoes.”   
Kip snorted and went back to sleep.    
He drifted in and out of wakefulness, waking when Gaster moved or whimpered in his sleep. It wasn’t a bad way to spend a cold afternoon.   
If Gaster was always this restless a sleeper, no wonder he was chronically tired.   
Kip had been asleep for perhaps half an hour when he woke to the sound of the wind sweeping across the walls. For a moment the room seemed bathed in cool light, and he wasn’t sure where he was. He remembered holding a sick child on a couch, glad that she was finally sleeping, slipping closer and closer to sleep himself as her warmth sank into his chest. The light was different. Golden. This was silvery, the color of clouds and ice. He lifted his head and looked down at Gaster, who’d rolled onto his back and huddled as close to Kip as he could get. His face was pleasantly out of focus.   
He didn’t hate him.   
Why was that an unusual feeling? Hate was a distraction in this situation, like any other emotion would be. He had to avoid all sentiment regardless of type. This was just as unprofessional as if he’d fallen in love with his captor.   
He would have to be more careful. He knew he could take this.   
Sans was right, he could do this. He’d be fine. He just needed to pay closer attention to his head. He was surprised and annoyed at himself for letting himself slip so much already.

He cleansed his mind of all but the remembrance of his mission and kissed Gaster on the forehead. His eyes flickered open, and he looked at Kip as if from under deep water before slipping back into sleep.

**A/N: Yoooo! People on FFN who actually left reviews in response to my snark of last chapter! Thank you! Reviews make me happy. And they were quite nice reviews too :D Thanks to everyone who reviews, and a special thank-you/welcome to newcomers!**

**So I made a supplemental oneshot from Gaster’s POV a while back and I finally get to tie it in. It’s his perspective on the shirtless scene.**

[Winter Light](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13610112)

**Yooo, Tumblrite then00breturns made the fic a super cool moodboard after the last chapter, check it out!**

<https://then00breturns.tumblr.com/post/169957423707/aesthetic-moodboard-for-trifoyle-s-fic>

**Oh and new pieces have been added to the art collection, including a comic by FollowerofMercy and a Gaster portrait by Goshawk-Gyrefalcon! Here’s the link again,**

<https://trefoil-underscore.deviantart.com/favourites/75001016/Snowflower>

**Hahaaa school wifi blocked AO3 so I had an awkward couple of days trying to figure out how to work around it but lo and behold, Chrome has Dot VPN and there is also Tor Browser, programs which (if I understand this correctly with my non-scientist brain?) bounce your signal around so it looks like you’re browsing from a different location than you actually are? It’s also useful in countries where the internet is censored, or so I’m told. And so I pass it on because I am grateful. Thanks SpeedyJellyfish, Physicist Friend Extraordinaire.**


	13. Chrysolite

Kip slid onto the floor and Gaster woke.   
“Hnnh.”   
“Gaster? Supper time, can you eat?”   
“Hhuh. Yeah sure.”   
Kip helped him sit up and tucked the blanket around him. Gaster squinted at him.   
“Did that shirt get tighter?”   
“...” Kip reached for his vest. “I had lost some weight, I think I’m gaining it back.”   
“Huh. Oh yeah, that’s a thing. I forget fleshy monsters have weights that can fluctuate. So neat.” Gaster watched him buttoning his vest. “Wait, you lost weight? When?”   
“Before I came here.”   
“Oh. Why? Were you sick? Did they not feed you enough?”   
“...”   
“Are you still underweight? Isn’t that unhealthy? Are you OK? Come to think of it I don’t actually know very well what a healthy monster should look like—”   
“I’m fine.”   
“You can have some of my food if you want, I generally don’t have as much of an appetite.”   
“Gaster! ..Thank you. I’m alright.”   
“Mkay. Good.” He snuggled down against the arm of the couch and sleepily watched Kip’s hands as he pulled his tie under his collar and knotted it. Kip noticed, and spent extra time smoothing out the collar.

He carried Gaster downstairs and settled him in his chair with the blanket around his shoulders. A light fall of sleet tingled on the roof and sides of the sunroom. Kip felt the cold pressing against his back when he sat down. _Stupid_ eating out here in the winter.   
Gaster ate slowly and pushed his plate across the table to Kip when he was half done.   
“Here.”   
“You’re not hungry?”   
“No. You eat it.”   
“Maybe we can save it for later.”   
“Nah, I don’t want it. Take it.”   
“...”   
Kip finished his plate. Anyway, if he started to feel woozy he’d know Dierk was poisoning Gaster. It was an amusing thought, but another theory he couldn’t quite rule out without testing.

Kip carried him back upstairs and played the piano while he lay in a blob on the couch, arms and legs contracted into the blanket, listening. Later he carried Gaster to his room and helped him change into his pajamas. It was startling to see how much of his already small form was air. How his bones fit together and flexed each against each. His soul was a white glow hovering behind his ribs. It looked more solid than most monster souls, like something you could touch. It would probably have an odd texture. He tried to think of this in an appealing way. He failed, and looked elsewhere. This is fine, this is what you signed up for, it probably won’t hurt as much anyway?   
He stood, and Gaster stood after him, a hand on his arm. He waited.   
“Can I sleep in your room?”   
“My room? Of course, but I could come up here.” There wasn’t much room in his bed. Then again...   
Gaster nodded.   
“I don’t like this room. Too many ghosts.”   
Ghosts. Gaster was afraid of ghosts.

He got Gaster settled in his bed before undressing, with his back to him, since he guessed that Gaster wouldn’t watch if Kip could see him. When he turned Gaster was hunkered down under the covers, staring intently in another direction. Heh.   
He slipped in next to him, angling his body to fit comfortably on the mattress, and Gaster turned onto his side to make room. Whether he’d intended this or not, he rolled directly into Kip, who draped an arm over him.

It would have been a nice situation if Gaster could have just gone to sleep. Instead he drifted in and out of a restless sleep for several hours, often changing his position, so that Kip felt he was sharing the bed with a large, desperately flailing skeleton fish. At some point he passive-aggressively rolled on top of him to pin him down. Gaster gave a strangled noise but lay still and Kip immediately went back to sleep.

Some time later he thought he woke to an eerie red light that he only just glimpsed before it faded. He wasn’t sure where it came from. Perhaps the skeleton still half-trapped beneath him (and finally, mercifully, sleeping). It seemed to fill the room. Before he could be certain it had faded. He waited for a few minutes for it to return, but fell asleep when it did not.

The next time he woke it was because Gaster had started drifting over the side of the bed and had grabbed his arm to pull himself back up. They resumed their original position and this time kept it in merciful, unconscious stillness until there was a sharp bang caused by his door rebounding from the wall. Kip woke with his entire body tensed. Dierk was in the doorway.   
“GET UP YOU USELESS CINDER I CAN’T FIND—”   
Gaster bolted up and grabbed for Kip with a squawk, poking him in the eye with a fingerbone. Kip grunted.   
“—Gaster,” said Dierk. “Nevermind.” He started to close the door. “I mean... excuse me.” he retreated.   
“... He is very concerned for your wellbeing.” Remarked Kip dryly. Gaster relaxed. His soul was fluttering wildly, Kip could feel the vibrations travelling through his bones.   
“Yeesh. That, uh. That startled me.”   
“No ghosts, though?”   
“No ghosts.”   
“Good.”   
Kip, who’d been sliding for some time, began to accelerate. His head and shoulders were off the mattress. He pushed Gaster off him with a grunt before flopping onto the floor.   
“Aa!” said Gaster. Kip rolled over and began doing pushups. Gaster leaned over the edge to watch him.   
“Are you OK?”   
“Yes.”   
“...What are you doing?”   
“Pushups,” said Kip, pausing. “It’s an exercise.”   
“Oh. Oh yeah. Neat. Um, you’re doing great.”   
Kip chuckled.   
“Thank you.”   
He was certainly doing better than when he’d first arrived, so he’d gained a little of his strength back.   
“How are you feeling?”, he asked, finishing and sitting up cross-legged on the floor. Gaster folded his arms on the edge of the bed.   
“Fine.”   
“What sort of fine?”   
“Uh, better than yesterday?”   
“...That’s good.”   
“I think I’m taking a day off today.”   
OK, so not fine.   
“Good. I think that’s wise.”   
“Yeah. Still feel kinda loopy when I try to move, I don’t think I’d get much done.”   
Very not fine.   
Kip nodded.   
Dierk knocked on the door. Kip got up and half-opened it to give him a narrow look.   
“I have your breakfast on a tray,” said Dierk, returning the look with the barest hint of conciliation. “Do you want it?”   
“...Thank you.”   
Kip took the tray and shut the door.   
“Was that Dierk?” said Gaster, sitting up.   
“Being surprisingly helpful, yes.” Kip came back, slid in next to Gaster and settled the tray across his legs. “Is this good?”   
“I—yes.” Gaster leaned back into his arm.

He seemed most comfortable with lowkey stuff. Companionable snuggling. Alright, it was easy for him to do, but for some reason it put Kip on edge. Perhaps it was just that, it was too easy and he didn’t trust it. Well, no. It wasn’t that, it was harder to say. It felt wrong to steel himself for constant abuse and get... this. Was that it?   
In any case, making Gaster happy was why he was there, and he wanted to get this over as quickly as possible, so. Cuddling it was.   
Gaster turned, angling his body to lie against Kip’s. His eyes were half-closed and his fingerbones wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. The color of the sunlight slanting across the foot of the bed was beautiful, thin winter gold shot with shadowy tracery from the branches outside. Gaster sleepily put his cup back on the tray and nuzzled into Kip’s shoulder, falling back asleep almost immediately.

Kip looked at the light and sudden pain shot through him.

In a fragment of a second, a hundred memories passed before him, lit with clear green fire, shining the color of chrysolite, golden-green, the color of the newest leaves in spring. Then he was thinking of Saturday mornings just like this, watching the gold sunlight dance over her skin, curled up together with coffee, too sleepy to speak, basking in the moment and sharing warmth.

Quietly he slipped away from Gaster, who continued sleeping. Heart pounding, Kip took the tray and carried it into the sunroom, then sat at the table, hands clenched in front of him.

He never thought about her. Or himself. His old self was like another person, another life; and he isolated that existence. Pining for what had been destroyed would only be a distraction. Uncontrolled emotion compromised him. He had to be more careful, but what had provoked that? The sunlight? It wasn’t like he could avoid the sunlight, that was ridiculous, it had just come out of nowhere—the sunlight, then remembering the color of sunlight on her skin, the air shining in the room the summer day he was leaning back against her, gently nibbling the freckled back of her arm.   
“Why are you biting me?” she said, teasingly, “I’m not food.”   
“Then why are you covered in sprinkles?” He twisted around and traced a finger across her cheek. Bright freckles lighter than the rest of her color spotted her skin like constellations. He kissed the trail of them across her cheek to the bridge of her nose while she slid a hand up under his shirt

_What the fuck was wrong with him_.

Kip pressed his head against the table and tried to blank out his mind, but now it was screaming at him because he’d remembered and it _hurt_.

He took deep breaths until the tidal wave of emotions faded and he was left feeling jittery and exposed but stable.   
No grief. It was no use to the living or the dead. And he had no time.   
Rage was a good blocker, it could wipe out anything else that might lurk below.

Gaster had woken and was lying on his stomach in a tangle of blankets. He looked up as Kip came in.   
“Hey. I went to get a book,” said Kip, taking a few books out from under his arm.   
“Are you going to read to me?”   
“If you like.”   
Kip lifted the desk chair, brought it over to the bed and sat, crossing his wrists on the back and resting his chin on them. Gaster curled himself in a bundle and stared at him. Several moments passed.   
“Well?” said Kip, smiling.   
“Huh? Oh! Yeah, yes, sure that would be great.”

**A/N: I’M ALIVE**

**So glad to be back to writing this asjdkfsf things are happeninggg**

**It’s a short chapter but hey, it exists**

**FollowerofMercy made fanart of the lovely lady mentioned in involuntary & traumatic flashbacks in this chapter**

[ **Codename Sprinkles** ](https://followerofmercy.deviantart.com/art/Snowflower-Fanart-Sprinkles-736931140)

**[POWER COUPLE](https://followerofmercy.deviantart.com/art/Snowflower-Fanart-Power-Couple-736930795) **


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